


Triptych

by sp_oops



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Minor grace kink, Multi, Oral Sex, Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp_oops/pseuds/sp_oops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after 8x17. </p><p>Waking up in chains is bad. Cas beside you, spelled into gracelessness, that’s bad. Knowing that, in whatever small way, it was your fault—that’s worse. You were so distracted watching Dean and Cas, trying like hell to stop freakin’ pining for them, that you didn’t even notice the trip wire. Trip sigil. Whatever. </p><p>Now Naomi’s questioning you and Cas bloody about the angel tablet, and it’ll be a miracle of either of you get out of this alive. And without Cas learning the reason you got them into this mess in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this plotline comes directly from [thesixtysevenimpala](http://thesixtysevenimpala.tumblr.com), to whom I am WICKED GRATEFUL. <3

This is how everything goes to shit: Dean touches Cas’ back.

Nah, okay, if you’re honest, it probably started the night before. When Sam gave you the Puppy Eyes of Apology as his scissors beat your paper, and you ended up in the room adjacent to the two  _lovairs_. Who hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Who were full of just as much fear and determination as you and Sam. Who liked to take it out on each other.

Loudly.

Loud enough that they were impossible to drown out with anything short of heavy-duty ear protection. But you wouldn’t. Not then, not the few other times this happened, because there’s a secret part of you that wants them  _so badly_. You lie awake and try not to press your ear against the wall, slip a hand under your PJs. You  _want_ to hear them, you want to close your eyes and imagine that somewhere, in some universe, their noises could be for you, too.

In the morning, you’re exhausted and still lonely. Sam’s still feeling shitty thanks to those trials. Dean’s tired but cheerful as fuck. Cas isn’t tired, but his smile is sweet when he looks at Dean, when he looks at you.

As the four of your approach the Impala, you can barely look at them. You stifled your own whimpers into the crook of your arm last night, listening to Dean and Cas. Building toward your own release as you heard them near theirs. “Caffeine first?”

Dean swats your shoulder, a half-grin lighting his eyes. “Speakin’ my language, kid.”

Cas pays for your coffee. You catch the flash of guilt in his eyes as he hands it over, and heat washes over you; he  _knows_  they were too loud. But you can’t begrudge him his happiness. Neither of them. Not after the ridiculous year they’ve had.

You swat his shoulder like Dean did yours, hoping he can feel all your affection in it. You think-pray directly at him, like you do sometimes:  _Don’t sweat it_.

His eyes dance away from you, embarrassed, but he smiles, dips his chin. And that’s that.

So here you are. Abandoned old warehouse, rusting equipment and junk everywhere. Safehouse, technically. A spot Dean and Sam have warded, one where Cas can fetch the angel tablet from wherever he’s got it hidden and you don’t need to worry about getting caught.

Cas has been on the run for weeks; it’s nearly a month after that stint in the crypt that nearly killed Dean. The reason for this meetup is ridiculous, but you couldn’t avoid it. The lot of you need to make a real, honest-to-fuck rubbing of the tablet with a crayon and paper, because cell phone pics blur and warp when Cas tries to send them, and Kevin needs to get started translating it.

Sam, who looks like he could use another hour or twelve of sleep, does the actual rubbing while Cas holds the tablet steady. You’re a few yards away, keeping an eye on the perimeter, pacing slowly. Dean’s standing by Cas, close. They’re not big on PDA, but these stolen moments they get to have—they take advantage. Like now. With Dean bringing his hand up to rest against the small of Cas’ back. Stupid, simple, not even any heat in it. Just straight-up tenderness.

Longing rears up tight in your chest, desperate and yeah, jealous as hell.

That’s when light bursts up around your sneaker.

“What the fuck?” You stumble back to see a sigil you don’t recognize, searing-bright with light. “Guys—”

The whole warehouse starts shaking, the ground rumbling. Cas looks at the symbol, and you watch his jaw go slack with disbelief. With fear.

“The hell is that?” Dean’s got his knife out already, glancing between you and Cas.

“Angels.” Cas’ eyes are wide, darting every direction.  _Shit_. Dust shivers down around you. “That sigil, it’s—it alerts them, they must have planted—you three have to go. _Now_!”

“Fine.” Sam’s trying to shove the paper into his coat pocket. “Fine, let’s—”

Cas reaches for him, palm to forehead, and Sam disappears. “I’m sorry,” he tells Dean, then takes Dean’s arm, tips the tablet into his hand. Close. “Keep this safe for a minute, would you?”

Dean’s face goes slack with panic; he glances at you. “You—Cas, no,  _don’t_ —” But there’s a hand at his forehead and he disappears, too.

Fear turns over in your gut as Cas rounds on you, and you remember a line from one of Chuck’s books, forever ago:  _I’ll hold them off. I’ll hold them all off!_

Cas is totally gonna let himself get captured to buy the three of you more time.

You shake your head as the windows rattle in their frames, as a noise like grinding teeth sounds when cracks race across them. “Cas.” You can barely hear your own voice _._ “Cas, I’m sorry,  _please_  don’t—”

“I’ll catch up when I can.” He’s already reaching for you, and fuck, he looks so  _sad_. He hesitates, eyes searching yours. “I—”

White light flares up sharp and fast; you throw an arm over your eyes automatically.

The ground stops rumbling. The light searing through your eyelids fades abruptly, so you lower your arm, and—

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck fuck  _fuck_.

You’re still in the warehouse.

Two angels yank Cas back and away from you, his hand still outstretched, eyes wide on yours. One of the angels smashes him across the face, sends him staggering to his knees. Blood spatters the ground from his split lip.

You don’t even think about it; your blade’s in your hand, the cold, familiar grip somehow driving it home:  _Cas didn’t get you in time. This is a fight you can’t win_ —

Pain explodes against your left side in a solid  _thump_ , so sudden and hard you go sprawling across the rough floor. You wheeze, breathless, ribs gone sharp and hot with pain. You roll to your back, trying to see.

Another angel looms over you, a lady in a sharp gray suit. Honey-colored hair in a prim bun. Flawless eyeliner. You know instantly, from everything Dean told you that Cas told him:  _This is Naomi_.

She flexes her hand, smirking, then turns to Cas. Who’s still looking at you.

“Hello, Castiel,” she says. “About time one of our sigils caught you. Considerate of you to bring a friend.”

Cas tries to lurch off his knees, but silver suddenly gleams at his throat, one of the angles pulling a blade up just under his chin. He freezes. “Naomi,” he growls, dark as thunder, “you  _leave her be_.”

“Why? She might be more useful than you.” Naomi crouches beside you, and before you can fight the pain in your ribs enough to scrabble backwards, her fingers touch your forehead.

Blackness floods your vision like ink through water, and drags you under.

* * *

Everything hurts like a sonofabitch; you flinch and hear chains click, heavy and taut. Your left sides feels bruised and sore. Maybe you cracked a rib? You can barely catch your breath, and your arms are on  _fire_ , caught up above your head, manacles digging into your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking into dark, blue light. The air smells like like rusting metal and water. You’re chilly, but it’s warm behind your shoulders, down your back. You’re in a filthy cell, maybe ten feet by ten feet, dirt and chips of stone all over the floor. There’s a door—vertical iron bars with spellwork scratched all over them.

Trapped. Trapped in a frigging warded prison cell. You could be anywhere. You could be—you shiver all over. Heaven or hell, and nobody would know.

“You all right?”

You flinch to the left, arms burning—

Oh. It’s Cas.

If the prison cell looks bad, he looks worse. Blood at his temple all the way down the side of his face, a streak of it from the corner of his mouth. Somebody’s taken his overcoat, and dark slashes in his jacket shine in the low light as he breathes. His hair’s at absurd angles, blood-matted on one side. He’s positioned the same way as you, hands up and chained to the wall, just far enough away from you that he’s out of reach. In addition to the chains, there’s a weird set of extra manacles with a flat bar keeping his wrists a few inches apart. He’s watching you, but there’s nothing but concern in the slant of his brows.

You’re not alone.  _You’re not alone_. Even in this mess, your heart rate chills for a second. You pull in a deep breath, and focus. “Hey. Yeah, I’m—I’m okay. You, why aren’t your injuries healing?”

“These cuffs.” He splays his slender, bloody fingers wide for a second, making his chains clink. “There’s spellwork in them that I can’t reverse.” His jaw clenches. “I can’t help either of us.”

You gulp. “We’ll figure it out. Where are we?”

“I’m not certain, but. There’s a… facility they took me to before. An abandoned complex they rigged to include passages into and out of heaven. I never came here of my own volition. If I had my— _mojo—”_ The corner of his mouth quirks up, his eyes gone soft on yours. He’s quoting you. You and Dean. “—I could tell you, but.”

You look away, relieved it’s dark enough to hide a blush. Even here, even now, you can’t help but get flustered as fuck when he shows affection. You press your shoulders back against the warm wall behind you, wishing you could burrow into the heat there, wondering if there’s a span of hot water pipes behind the stone and mortar.

Cas lets out a shuddering sigh. It  _does_ things to you. You close your eyes. “How long have we been here?”

“A day, I think. I’ve faded in and out.”

A whole  _day_? “Why am I not starving?”

He makes a noise could almost be a laugh. “Most angels find digestion repulsive. They tend to keep human captives from experiencing it.”

Weird. But okay, you’ll take it. “Why haven’t they come to get us yet?”

“Typical interrogation technique.”

You shiver at the word.  _Interrogation_. You’ve been a hunter long enough to know that never means a friendly chit-chat.

“Make us wait,” Cas continues. “Let us dream up all sorts of horrors before we actually find out what it is.”

You gulp. You feel shaky all over. “There any chance we’re getting out of this alive?”

His hands are in fists. “I don’t know. It’d be better if we could communicate with Dean and Sam.”

Damn. “Your prayer antenna down, too?”

“Yes. I can’t—” He shakes his head, jaw going tight in frustration. Your heart twists up in your chest. “—can’t hear anyone. There’s this far-off sort of  _fuzz_ that could be Dean, but…”

You think-pray at him, loud as you can:  _Cas, I’m sorry._

He looks up, looks over, surprised. “Was that you?” When you nod, he closes his eyes. “It’s stronger than Dean’s. I can’t tell what you’re saying, but there’s…” His brows shift. You do it again:  _Cas. I wish you could hear me_. He smiles. “It’s strangely comforting.”

You—hoo, boy. You could confess every one of your feelings for him, for Dean, and he wouldn’t know.

As if you have time to think about that crap now.

_I’ll keep it up_ , you think at him.  _Just so you know I’m here_.

“I still can’t read you. But. Thank you.” It’s soft, his sincere eyes just pouring into yours. “The two of you pray to me most anyway.”

Oh, good, well. That’s unsubtle of you, isn’t it.

Time for a subject change. “What do they want with us, anyway?”

He shifts, drawing his knees up with a wince. “Hard to say. Me, they’ll probably want to—” His mouth pulls taut for a second. “—recondition. Learn as much as they can about the angel tablet while they’re at it. Probably where I sent Sam and Dean, so they can find them.” He glances over. “You, they’ll probably ask the same. Or they’ll just…” He looks away. “… use you to hurt me.”

Your heart thumps hard, your ribs sharp with pain on every breath. “Will it matter that I don’t know where you sent them?”

“Probably not. But we should keep it that way.” His hands go tight on the chains. “Listen—will you promise me something?”

You look sideways at him, thinking  _anything_  even as you say, “If I can.”

“Naomi won’t be able to read your mind. The Enochian on your ribs keeps her out, even if one’s broken. But when she or one of her—associates—ask you questions… just. Tell them what they want to hear.”

“What the hell?” You shift, trying to look at him better, and your side protests with a hot flare of sharp pain. “Ow,  _shit_. Why?”

“They’ll make things difficult for you if you don’t.” His eyes flicker back to yours, bright and worried.

“Cas, that’s  _crap_. What if it’ll hurt you? What if—”

“I don’t care.” It’s fierce, low. “I’ve been through worse before. You haven’t. I can’t fight for you like this, but I  _can_  tell you what will keep you alive longest. This is one of them. Please. Promise me.”

Christ. “Yeah. Okay. Fine. I’ll tell them.”

He visibly relaxes. “Thank you.”

God, you’re boned. Everything you’ve heard about Naomi—everything Dean’s told you, after Cas nearly killed him in that crypt… What if she makes you do the same? Brainwashes you into killing Dean, killing Cas, Sam, the instant she gives the command? What if she trains you to do it and makes you forget, what if she—okay. Okay, you gotta stop the  _what if_ s. Think about anything else. Your voice is shaking when you say, “So you think I got a broken rib?”

“Yes. Well. Maybe. I can’t tell for certain. But your breathing, while you were asleep—something’s off. Fractionally.” He looks so worried; fuck, you can’t take much more of that without bursting into tears. “Does it hurt?”

You thump your head back against the wall. Hiding behind your own arms. Bless these hot water pipes that warm your aching shoulders. “It’s—I’m dealing with it.”

He breathes out. Another almost-laugh. “You and Dean,” he says, with a bit of wonder. “Neither of you ever want to let anyone care for you when you suffer.”

He keeps grouping you and Dean together. As if you both mean the same to him. As if you both mean so  _much_. It makes your breath catch, the thought that in whatever way, he cares about you even remotely as much as Dean. But you smile, looking back over. “As if you’d tell me how much those slash wounds hurt.”

He presses his lips together, fighting a smile of his own. “Fair enough.”

You want, more than you ever have, to be near him. To tuck yourself up under his arm and just  _cling_. Supporting and being supported. You try to think that at him, the prayer equivalent of the warmest embrace you can conjure, and he really does smile.

“You should try to sleep more, if you can.” His voice is soft. “I still don’t know what they plan, but whatever it is, it’d be good to face it at full rest.”

“But I was just unconscious for like, a day.”

“Are you not tired?”

You take stock, and realize that you  _are._ You’re bone-weary.

“Them knocking you out isn’t the same thing as sleep.” He shifts, wincing. “It’s all right. I’ll keep watch.”

* * *

You dream.

But it’s not exactly a dream.

The bunker library glows with low lamplight, open books scattered carelessly on the table. It even smells like the bunker, from the handful of times you’ve been there since they moved in. Coffee and paper and something kinda manly, like—

“Holy shit, it worked!”

You spin in place, and Dean’s coming right up to you, eyes wide, delighted. He doesn’t stop, but puts his hands on your shoulders, heavy and  _real_ as he searches your face. That kind of look’s disarming on a good day, but  _Jesus_ , he looks so freaking stoked, so relieved and delighted. Somehow you manage, “Dean? What the hell?”

“I’ll tell you exactly what the hell. Just—first, tell me what I made for breakfast that morning I showed up after Purgatory.”

You’re hot under his searching eyes, your hands hovering near his waist, unsure yet if you should pull away. “Uh. Why?”

He tilts his head sideways and back. “This isn’t a dream. Sam cooked up a spell with some bastard offshoot of African dream root. Need to make sure it’s really you.”

_Cool_. “It was, ah. Omelets.” It’s a good memory. Dean in a borrowed, oversized tee and sweatpants, bedheaded, looking up hopefully when you came in. Your cabin safe house was one of the first places he stopped after he got out. Relieved as hell, but suffocating under the weight of his grief, of losing Cas. Dean crashed in the guest room that night, too late to drive back to Sam. “And you found my coffee stash.”

“Yeah, I did.” He breathes out, lets go of you, and waves his fingers at himself. “Okay. You ask me something.”

“Dude. I’m convinced this is real. Cas said the Enochian on our ribs prevents our minds from being read. The angels aren’t fucking with me.”

“So you’re—you can talk with him? Wait, sorry, fuck. Focusing. Ask me something anyway.”

You think quickly. “Uh. What kind of omelets were they?”

“Sausage and peppers. All you had around.”

Yep. “They turned out pretty good, though.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I know my way around a skillet.” He looks you up and down again. Like he’s checking for injury. But it doesn’t matter; your side doesn’t throb here.

You say, “Cas is gonna want proof I didn’t just imagine this. You…” Oh, shit. Your cheeks burn; you know he can tell you’re turning red. “… you got anything about him I wouldn’t know?”

His eyes flicker up to yours. You cannot  _begin_ to describe the emotions you see there there.

“I swear to god, Winchester.” You make yourself grin. “Better not be a safeword.”

His laugh floors you. “Fuck off.”

“Hey, you never know—”

“No, no, I mean. ‘Fuck off.’ First words I ever said to Cas.”

You look at him sideways. “ _Really_?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I don’t remember, but he swears by it. This was below, by the way. Not in that barn.”

You gulp. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He swallows, too, and drops his arm. “That should do it. But yeah—so you’re with him? How is he? And—Jesus, you got any idea where you are?”

You tell him everything you know. Which is not a lot.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, “GPS on your phone says you’re in eastern Tennessee. Trying to get there fast as we can.”

“Where—” You catch yourself just in time. “No, don’t tell me where you are. But are you close?”

“Yep. Day or less.” He looks you over. “How the hell did that happen, anyway? Not like us to get caught off guard.”

“No, it isn’t.” You’re definitely not telling Dean why you got into this mess. “Just didn’t see that stupid symbol.” You wrap your hands around your arms. “Fuck, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey.” His eyes are so soft, full of concern. “You didn’t step on the damn thing on purpose. Anybody coulda done it.”

“I wish…” Damn it. This softness from him is too much. “Wish Cas woulda gotten himself out with the rest of us.”

“Right?” Dean’s hands go to his hips; he shakes his head. “Man, if I had a dollar for every time his freakin’ martyr complex reared its head—”

“Whoa, whoa whoa.” The incredulity momentarily makes you forget your guilt. “Uh huh. Let’s complain about Cas’ martyr complex, mister ‘no-one-gets-to-see-me-suffering-ever.’ Monsieur ‘I’ll-sacrifice-myself-so-my-brother-can-live.’ Señor ‘no-kid-I-insist, I’ll-take-the-couch-tonight.”

His smile just keeps growing, and he pushes his hands into his pockets even as he licks his lips, trying to decide what to say. Fuck, you want to box up that look and take it with you. He looks at you from under his lashes when he says, “See, this is why we need you around. You keep us honest.”

Somehow you don’t think that “us” meant all of Team Free Will. It makes you feel fragile all over again. “And I need you guys around to convince me I’m a decent hunter.”

“What the—do you seriously still think you’re not? After all this time?” He moves closer, suddenly fierce, eyes searching yours with questions, with  _heat_. “All the shit you’ve bagged, all the people you’ve saved? The number of times you’ve saved  _our_ asses?”

Fuck, his faith in you is unshakeable as ever. You have no idea what you did to deserve this, but it’s making your lower lip tremble. Making your eyes prickle. “Decent hunter wouldn’t be this fucking scared.”

“Kid.” His brows go slanted with concern, lips parting in surprise. You try to turn away as your eyes well up, but he reaches for you. “Hey. No, no, c’mere.”

Like  _that_ his arms are around you, tucking you up against his broad, warm chest, the softness of his shirts. You thump your head against his shoulder, for once just letting yourself  _go_ , breathing in the familiar, manly scent of him. If he’s not gonna freak at your show of emotion, you’re gonna roll with it. “You’re allowed to be scared, okay.” His voice is a rumble you can  _feel_ , in his chest, in his mouth somewhere in your hair. His hands tight at your shoulder, your waist. “I am, too. I dunno what the fuck they want from you’n Cas, but right now, right here—I gotcha, kiddo. Okay? I gotcha.”    

You nod, sniffling into his shirt. God, it’s soft. God, he smells good. You close your eyes, letting yourself relax into him, into the lean lines of him, your arms around his ribs right where they narrow toward his waist. He’s so  _warm_.

Fuck, this better be real.

He’s not done yet. “Me’n Sam are doing everything we can to get you out. He was hauling out locator spells, last I saw, so we can pinpointcha. Just gotta get that squared away and then we’re coming for you.”

“What if you have to fight your way in?” You reach up, brushing at your eyes. “Sam’s all busted up, he can’t…”

“Yeah.” His voice scratches. “We’re working on it.”

You take a deep breath. And a big sniffle. “We’re gonna make an effort too, obviously.”

“I know.” His hand smooths warm up and down your back; you’re stunned into just letting it happen. “I know you will. You’re gonna fight like hell. You always do.”

You nod, trying to unclench your fists from the back of his shirt. “This dream thing. Good idea, dude.”

He presses his mouth to your hairline, so you  _feel_ his smile. “Glad it worked out.”

Good thing he’s holding you. Your knees are wobbly, body singing with the surprise of this completely unexpected tenderness. He still isn’t trying to pull back; his hand just keeps tracing slow up and down the back of your jacket.

When your sniffling’s died down, he pulls back a little. “Hey.” He looks down at you, and his eyes search yours, questioning and uncertain. “Could you. Give somethin’ to Cas for me? When you wake up?”

He’s close enough to kiss. You could do it, stand up on your tiptoes and— _no_. “Didn’t think we could take things outta here.”

“We can’t.” He licks his lips, brief, which makes you shudder to see it so close, the curve of them shining and  _soft_. Then his hands come up, cupping your jaw, threading into your hair, and your heart skips into triple-time, what,  _what_ — “S’not something to take. More like something to give.”

Your hands curl into his sleeves, unsure whether to yank him closer or push him back, because Jesus, he’s looking at your mouth, he’s looking at you with questions, with  _is this okay_ , with  _please let me_ —

His mouth lands at the corner of yours. Just to the right.

You flinch closer, hands tightening as the soft, warm give of his lips presses into you, as he breathes out shakily and then eases back, still entirely too close. “Except, you know.” His voice is husky. Dark. “Meant the real thing.”

God, you can barely breathe. You look up, past his parted lips, past the freckles, to the desperate green of his eyes. “Figured.”

Muscles twitch at the hinge of his jaw. “Kid—”

The bunker flickers, and you flinch awake into the damp dark of your cell, chains and manacles clanking near your ears. Your arm muscles remind you how much they  _don’t fucking like this_  by flaring to sharp, hot, painful life.

You glance left immediately. Cas is staring at you, brows up. Like he knows. Like he just _knows_.

You can still feel the warmth of Dean’s hands on your face. At your back. Even if you _could_  reach Cas, how the hell would you find the nerve to do what Dean just did? What if—Jesus. Guilt makes your arms feel even heavier. What if Cas would be  _pissed_?

He says, “You were dreaming.”

“Yeah. Hey, I need to ask you something. Something really fucking important.”

His eyes are wide, solemn. “Anything.”

_Hngh_. “What’s the first thing Dean ever said to you?”

He draws back a bit, brows lowering. “What’s this about?”

“I’ll explain in a sec. Just—please.”

His chains click softly. “It was ‘who are you.’”

Disappointment floods you.  _Fuck_. So whatever that was—

Cas says, “Unless you meant in hell.”

You jolt toward him, wincing when the pain in your arms flares bright and sudden. “ _Ah_. Yeah. Yes.”

“It was ‘fuck off.’” His eyes go a little wistful. “He doesn’t remember. But he fought me the whole way out.”

You’re gonna tell Cas about that dream. You are. Just as soon as you get over the shock. “What? Why?”

Cas tilts his head back against the wall. Closes his eyes. You give yourself permission to stare at the stubbled line of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, before his lashes flick open at the ceiling. “Didn’t think he deserved to be saved, after everything he did those last ten years. He was… busy, when I found him. After that initial greeting, he told me I’d be better off taking the person he had on the rack.”

It makes your heart swell, makes your breath come short. “Fucking martyr complex.”

“He absolutely has one of those.”

There must be an echo in here. A weird, multi-dimensional echo. “You got the exact same one, buddy.”

Cas smiles. “Suppose I do. But he did. All the good things he’s done, and he still felt like he belonged there.”

Your throat goes tight. “He didn’t. He  _doesn’t_. Just like you didn’t belong in Purgatory.” You feel all sniffly again. “‘Atoning,’ or whatever the fuck Dean said you were doing. We just wanted you home, Cas. Just wanted you with us. You have no  _idea_  how much it killed me when you said you stayed behind on purpose. Did you not want us?” Your voice cracks on that one,  _fuck_. “Did you not think we’d—” Yep, there it is. The tears go rolling down your cheeks; you endure the burning in your arms to duck your face there and dry off the evidence. “—not think we’d forgive you? Because we all did. Way before you got to Monsterland.”

You can feel his eyes on you. Can  _hear_ his heart break when he murmurs your name, stunned.

“Just wanted you home.” You sniffle, trying not to whimper. “Missed you both so much. And this bullshit with Naomi—I know you’re all broken up about it, man, I see the way you’re a freaking guilt factory when you look at Dean now. But you gotta know that doesn’t matter. You gotta know that we  _know_ Naomi was fucking with you. That you’d never hurt either— _any_ of us if you could help it.”

His brows are high, jaw slack. Looking at you like you’ve just told him every single thing he had no idea he needed to hear. It makes your breath catch, makes your insides go molten with the unflinching adoration you find there.

It makes the warmth at your back unbearable. “Damn it.” You sniffle. “I don’t know what kind of hot water plumbing they got running on the other side of this wall, but—” With a sound like wind through leaves, the warmth disappears abruptly. A chill takes its place, and you shiver from head to foot.

Cas says, “It’s not the plumbing.”

You stare at him. The last of your sniffles makes you flinch. “Then what is it?”

He licks his lips. “Me.”

It hits you all at once:  _wings_. You’d seen them flare up before, shadows of them on walls, but hadn’t actually considered they could ever be  _felt_. 

Studying the far wall, he says, “I should have asked if it was all right. But you were shivering in your sleep, and I couldn’t…”

Lordy. “Cas.”

He closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“It’s okay.” Beyond the fact that it’s freezing, there is something so intimate about it all that you can barely breathe. “You can keep—”

Footsteps thud down the hall, echoing off stone. You snap tight with tension, and Cas turns to you. His eyes are wide, and you don’t know what’s scarier—the fear in them, or the way it looks like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face.

As if—Jesus. As if he really thinks they’ll reset him this time.

“Castiel.” Shadows loom before three angels step into thin, watery light outside your cell. The frontmost angel you recognize from the warehouse. Good-looking vessel, dark hair and a short beard.

You want to punch the smirk off his face as he looks Cas over.

He says, “Naomi’s waiting for you.”

* * *

It’s cold as fuck in here without the warmth of Cas’ wing at your shoulders.

You doze anyway. In and out, fitfully. Arms aching like hell. Dean doesn’t reappear in your dreams, but he may as well, as much time as you spend remembering the feel of his mouth so close to yours, the soft press of his lips. How easy it would’ve been to turn your head, intercept a surprised noise of his with one of your own.

And you’re not crazy, right? It  _seemed_  like he wanted more. It  _felt_ like it, his uncertainty, the heat in his eyes, the hungry part in his lips.

Would he have kept going? Would he have backed you into a pillar, breathed into your neck as he ground out the words you’ve wanted to hear for so long:  _always wanted you, both of us—woulda had you, just didn’t know what to say—didn’t think you’d want both—didn’t think—Christ, kid, please_ —

God.  _Do_ they both want you? Is there any reality where that’s possible? The way Cas went all embarrassed when you found out about his wing around you, the way he seemed so pleased when he said you and Dean pray to him most anyway.

Oh, on that note.

Trying to ignore the way your arms are finally starting to go numb, you close your eyes. Whatever Cas is going through, it’s gotta fucking suck. And even if he can’t hear the words you might send his way, maybe you can get a bit of comfort across.  _Cas_ , you think, imagining it echoing out into the void.  _Cas, hang in there. You’ve faced so much worse before. But this time I’m with you. Er, kind of._

You tilt your head back against the wall, thinking. What would you want to hear, if this worked in reverse?

_If I could, Cas, I’d take you so far away from here. Wrap you up in me. Hold you so close. With Dean, too, like some sort of crazy double-spoon. We wouldn’t let these assholes take anything from you ever again. No more brainwashing. No more penance. Just you, and us, and fuck the rest. We don’t need ‘em._

Man, how many times have you thought of this—not even how mind-blowingly hot it would be to get caught up between the two of them, skin on skin and both of them in you, around you—but how much you just want the little things? The way you’ve seen Dean press kisses to Cas’ temple when he thinks no one’s looking. The way Cas looks at Dean sometimes, like he can’t even  _believe_ —and look why you’re here, even. Look what led you here. You’d give anything for a fucking do-over of that morning, where you weren’t distracted by one stupid,  _stupid_ bit of PDA.

_I want that so much,_ you think at him, a little desperate _. That’s the reason we’re here. That’s the reason they’re probably tearing you apart, and I may not make it out of this, and Dean and Sam are out there panicking—because I couldn’t look away. Because I was up late, getting off to the sound of you and Dean getting off, like a total freak. Because I was so damn selfish, wondering if I could ever be part of your stupid, casual PDA._

You hope that doesn’t come across as despair. Maybe he’ll interpret it as you just being worried for him. Which you so are.

But this is helping pass the time, at any rate.

You must fall asleep again, because when the bars clank, you flinch your head up and your whole body tenses into one wound-up mess of pain.

It’s that good-looking angel again. He kinda looks like a Gyllenhaal, in the right light. Another angel stands at his side, silent.

Pain makes you pissed. Pissed and reckless. “Bored of Cas already?”

Gyllenhaal smirks. “Almost.”

You’re glad Cas isn’t around for the way you yelp when they let your arms down.

* * *

Your side throbs. Your arms throb. Your legs are rubbery with disuse. You aren’t hungry, but given the chance, you’d murder a burger.

Also you’re so terrified that even without the fatigue, you’re pretty sure you’d still be shaking.

After the dark hallways (and the constant memorizing:  _left, left, up, right_ ), it’s a shock to stumble into white light. You remember what Cas said, about them rigging this facility to connect to heaven.  _Balls_. Can you even get there while you’re still alive?  _Yeah,_ you decide, eyes streaming as you blink to adjust,  _I probably wouldn’t hurt this much if I was dead_.

“Hello.” Naomi’s voice rings out cold even before your eyes have adjusted; you squint. It’s not just that the light was bright, it’s that this whole office is white. There’s the dark shape of Naomi in her prim gray suit, a desk with a chair behind it, two more angels standing by stoically to the right. But to the left… oh, no.

You try to lurch forward, but the angels gripping your elbows tighten their hold, burning into your sore muscles, so you just end up whimpering.

Cas is strung up by his manacles to a hook hanging from the ceiling, bleeding sluggishly from slash wounds all over his torso, his arms. A nasty one down his cheekbone. They kept his jacket and shirt on, but unbuttoned both. His golden skin gleams with sweat; his hair’s matted, hands in fists, his knuckles bloody and raw.

But he’s holding himself up, still braced on both feet, chest heaving. You’re shaking in your captors’ grip, their fingers digging into your arms in case you try to bolt for Cas again. “Naomi,” he says, and it’s thick; he swallows. “Leave her out of this.”

Naomi ignores him, stepping in front of you. She doesn’t have so much as a drop of blood on her. “Castiel is being less than compliant. We thought maybe you could encourage him.”

“Don’t do this.” Cas’ voice is a mess, ragged and rough. “ _Please_.”

Naomi’s eyes—cool, clear gray, flecked with blue—bore directly into yours. “I have a job for you,” she says.

You wonder how well it would go if you told her to get bent.

Probably not well.

She seizes your wrist, turns your palm up—and lays your phone into it. She’s still smiling at you in a mild sort of detachment when she says, “I’d like you to call Dean Winchester.”

Is there going to be a single moment in the next twenty-four hours where some part of you isn’t silently shouting  _what the fuck_?

You stare at her, but close the phone in your hand anyway. The weight is somehow oddly comforting. Your one connection with the outside world. “Why?”

Her smile is thin. What was her vessel before she invaded it? It’s a kind-faced woman, really. The amount of plain ol’ evil roiling around inside her doesn’t fit. “We have something he wants. He has something  _we_  want. But neither of us can trade if we don’t know where to meet.”

You glance at the other two angels, still parked along the shining white wall to the right right side of Naomi’s desk. One of them is holding—what the hell, is that an iPad?

Naomi gets up in your space, so you’re forced to focus on her. “You will speak for us. You will tell Dean and Sam to meet back at the warehouse where we found you, in two days, at the same hour. They will have the angel tablet  _and_ demon tablet with them. And in return, we will give you back.”

You lift your head. Fury’s pounding in your veins along with your heartbeat. “Just me?”

“Just you.”

Your eyes flick briefly to Cas, which hurts; it’s physically painful to see him so bloody and helpless. “Dean’s not gonna agree. He’ll want Cas back before he’ll take me.”

She actually says, “Ha!” Delighted, surprised. “That’s not true at all.” She looks back at Cas. “Isn’t that right, Castiel. He’ll take either of you if he can’t have both.”

Muscles in Cas’ jaw flex, making the blood there shine. To your surprise, he looks away. _Ashamed_. What?

“It’s a shit deal,” you say. Your phone case digs into your palm. “He’ll never go for it.”

Naomi reaches for you, and her fingertips find your aching side. Barely any pressure alights there, but agony spikes up your ribs in a hot rush; you damn near drop your phone.

She says, “Call. Him.”

You dial, flicking the speakerphone button. It rings, comically stupid in this ridiculous setting. Where are you, even? Do you have reception here?

You half expect Dean not to pick up.

But he does. “This actually you, kid?” It filters into the room, hesitant and gruff, but holy crap, you had no  _idea_ how much you needed to hear his voice again.

“That depends,” you say, and gulp. You look at Cas, who’s looking at you. “What’re we having for breakfast?”

Relief makes his voice softer. “Omelets.”

_Whew._  You say, “Fuck off, Dean.”

Understanding dawns in Cas’ face. God, he’s beautiful. It  _hurts_ , that you can’t help him.

Dean breathes out, crackly but an almost-laugh. He gets it.  _He gets it._  He says, “How many flying dicks you got listening in on this?”

Naomi plucks the phone out of your hand. “Hello, Dean,” she says, and it’s incredible how cold she makes it compared to all the times you’ve heard it from Cas’ lips. “We’d like to discuss terms.”

“Yeah, fuck that. We won’t agree.”

“You may. We’re willing to offer a trade.”

Silence. You picture Dean holding the phone up between him and Sam. Poor Sam, who’s probably aching and exhausted.

Naomi goes on. “The angel tablet for the girl.”

“Dean,” you interject, “don’t you dare give up those stupid rocks.”

“I’m with you, kid. Hell no, not for just one of you. No way. We get Cas  _and_ the kiddo or no deal.”

Naomi smirks. “I was hoping you’d say that. There’s something else we’d like, too.”

“Not getting the other rock, either,” says Dean, sharp.

“What if we give you both prisoners in exchange for both tablets?”

More silence.

“Kid,” Dean says. “Is Cas with you? Is he okay?”

You look at Cas, who looks seconds from passing out. His eyes pleading on yours. Hands in bloody, defiant fists. Patches of grace flickering out of slash marks as he breathes. “Define okay.”

“Jesus.”

“Dean.” It’s Cas, drawing himself up, but his voice is thick; it speaks of the blood soaking into his waistband, his matted hair and utter exhaustion. “I’ll be fine. Don’t give up those tablets.”

Movement to your right draws your eye. The one angel is actively gesturing at his freakin’ iPad, the other searching over his shoulder. Why the fuck would they…

Oh. Crap.

They’ve gotta be tracing the call. Trying to figure out where the Winchesters are, because they  _knew_ Dean would answer if you called. There’s no deal on the table. Naomi just wants to ambush them.

But if they’re still looking, they haven’t traced it yet.

Naomi’s saying, “That’s my offer. You can either—”

“Dean, hang up.” It bursts out of you. The seconds still tick by on the screen, in Naomi’s palm. “ _Dean._  They’re tracing—”

The seconds pause, then blink.  _CALL ENDED_  blinks red before fading back to your home screen.

Nice reflexes, that Dean Winchester.

Naomi glances back at the angel with the iPad. The guy shakes his head ever so slightly, and lowers the screen.

You have time to catch the flash of respect in Cas’ eyes before a heavy fist  _pounds_ into your ribs.

Pain lashes out from that point in a searching, paralyzing arc that buckles your knees; you don’t even have the air to scream as you go down, as your guards let you drop into a haze, vision going black around the edges like you’re about to pass out. Dimly, you can hear Cas shouting.

Even as the room swims back into focus, you can’t stop a ragged, teeth-bearing grin. They didn’t get to Dean, and he’ll know better than to answer his phone next time.

Naomi pulls you up by the collar, eyes gone blue with grace and fury. You can’t help it; if they want to kill you, they’re going to do it. You wheeze, “Bite me.”

Her fist snaps at your face so fast, you don’t even see it coming ’til after it breaks your nose. Cartilage crunches in a jolt you feel it all the way to the back of your head, and she lets you fall forward onto your arms as pain spears through your face, hot and stunning. Damn near blinding. “Fuck,” you manage, babbling over the blood already. It’s heavy and iron on your tongue, wet on your upper lip, scarlet in a smear on your knuckles when you reach to brush it away, plinking to the marble tiles. Fat red circles surrounded by pinprick points of red. Your whole face lights up in pain when you graze your nose.

Naomi gets down on her haunches beside you. Pulls your chin up again as you breathe through your teeth.

You can’t even find it in you to be afraid anymore. How does that happen? You get face-to-face with the inevitable, and suddenly this bitch in a bun doesn’t scare you?

May as well use your power for good. “Screw you,” you slur, flecking her with blood. “Let Cas down from there.”

She doesn’t even blink. “I don’t think that would be wise. He’s still ours. I can make him turn with a word. One command, and you’d feel the chill of his blade in your heart.”

“No I wouldn’t. You trained him on Dean, not on me.”

Behind her, Cas’ worried face twists up further. An unspoken  _Dean told you about that_?

“Besides.” You jerk your chin out of her grip and run your sleeve across your mouth, under your nose.  _Fuck_ , that’s a lot of red. “All that training, and he  _still_ couldn’t get Dean. You bastards never actually count on the power of love, do you.”

She doesn’t rise to the bait. She sighs. Glances behind her. “Take Castiel back to his cell.”

Cas’ voice has gone low, dangerous, as they get him down. “Naomi, I swear to you—”

“Please, Castiel.” Naomi reaches for you. Instantly your nose  _cra-ACK_ s back into place and the red vanishes from the floor. Your rib’s still a dull pinch of misery, your hand and sleeve still bloodied, but you’re back to how you were. She stands, looks up, eyes sharp on Cas. “If we wanted to kill her, we’d do it in front of you. Don’t give us a reason.”

He lurches in their grip. Furious, horrified—but then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with these creepos. Naomi and the now-useless iPad angels. The angels who brought you in, including the Gyllenhaal guy, go to stand next to those two. Warily, you get to your feet.

Naomi leans on the edge of her desk, then gestures behind you. When you turn, there’s a plush white chair that wasn’t there before. Smiling, she says, “Sit.”

You really  _want_  to sit. Your knees knock together. But Christ, you don’t want her getting a single ounce of satisfaction from you. “Why waste your time?” Your voice is all scrape. “You’re going to ask me a crapton of questions. I’m not going to know any of the answers. You’ll torture me until I make something up that sounds halfway decent. Repeat until you get bored.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “Clever girl.”

She snaps her fingers, and the chair slams into the back of your legs, dropping you into it. You bounce onto soft leather, instantly smearing it with dirt and blood, and your ribs throb sharp and painful.

“I don’t think you want to play it like this,” she says evenly. “We may not be able to tear into your head like we can with Castiel, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make this absolutely miserable for you.” She crosses one ankle over the other. “Are you going to cooperate?”

This is exactly what Cas warned you about. And he knows what this is like, he’s gotta know. That’s why he wants you to tell them what they want to hear. You swallow. Your mouth tastes like iron. “Yeah. I’ll cooperate.”

“Good.” Her gaze locks on yours. “Where did Castiel send the Winchesters?”

They must not have gotten it out of him. “I don’t know.”

“Then where  _would_ he send them?”

“Also don’t know. Somewhere even they wouldn’t expect, probably. Throw you off.”

She blinks. A muscle in her jaw ticks. “Not a safehouse?”

Your lower lip’s trembling, the adrenaline comedown catching up with you.  _Shit_ , you’re scared. You think of Dean pulling you against him, and let yourself sink into the memory. His quiet confidence in you. “Cas could have booped them to the freaking car outside, and I wouldn’t have known. He didn’t get to me, so I don’t know.”

She stands up. Starts pacing slowly in front of her desk. You wonder when she’s going to snap. “What’s he told you about the angel tablet?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have seen him exactly  _once_ since that day in the crypt,” you say. “Right before you guys grabbed us. I barely even saw him then. He and Dean…”  _Kept to themselves_ , you don’t say.

But she presses on. “What’s the prophet told you about the demon tablet?”

Kevin? You haven’t seen that kid in weeks. “Uh. He hasn’t. He’s trying to translate it. All I know is he built some sort of demon bomb with it. Like their version of the blood symbol that blasts you guys to the edge of the universe.”

“And where is he?”

“Don’t know. Never been to visit. You know we try to anticipate this stuff sometimes, right?” Your voice shakes. “We don’t call each other on the phone and gab about all of our secret plans.”

She leans on the desk again. Her vessel’s knuckles are white where they grip the edge, as she considers you. It seems an endless minute before she says, “Castiel cares for you very much, doesn’t he.”

Not the creepy way she said it. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“I have.” It’s sharp. “I wasn’t entirely satisfied with his answer. That’s how he got the gash on his cheek.”

You look at your hands, clenched and shaking in your lap. Starting to get sticky with dried blood. Yeah, this is definitely gonna get that messy.

“I’m just trying to understand,” she says, obvious strain in her voice. “What interest does he have in a human female? What is it about you that fascinates him so much? He and Dean, well, that makes sense.” Her voice is rising. “But  _you_? You haven’t pulled him out of half so many scrapes, forgiven his idiocy  _half_ so many times. And still, his thoughts return to you just as often as they do the Winchester.”

You can barely breathe. Any second she’s going to let loose. “I don’t know what you’re yelling about. Cas is my  _friend_ , why is that so hard to—”

“No. No, he isn’t.”

You glance up and her eyes are blazing cold. God, you hate her. “Yes, he is.”

She twitches her wrist and a blade falls out of her sleeve; she grips it by the hilt. Doesn’t move.

_What the fuck_. You try, “Uh. No, he… isn’t?”

Her calm face warps into a snarl, and she  _slams_  the blade on the desk so hard that the point chips off the end and goes flying. Like  _that_  she’s up in your space, free hand curled in your jacket and shirt, hauling you up and out of your seat. Your hands lock on her wrist, trying to pull her back, but her grip is unshakeable. Her eyes bore into yours like drill bits, pinning you in place. She levels the knife along your throat, all the way up behind your ear. “Don’t. Play games. With  _me_.”

You can barely breathe. “Naomi, if I had half a clue what you were talking about—”

She yanks you forward and steps aside; there’s no time to brace yourself before she slams you into the desk with a sickening  _crunch_ as your nose breaks again and pain explodes across your face. When she lets you crumple to the ground, you gasp as blood spills into your hands, stunningly red against the clinically white backdrop as you try to catch your breath.

_Wouldn’t kill you unless Cas was there, huh?_  you think bitterly, heart pounding frantically, eyes watering as you fight the pain and panic.

She’s talking above you,  _ranting_ , and you try to focus on what she’s saying. Your life could depend on this. Not getting strung up like Cas could depend on this. “… as we first thought. We were trying so hard to figure you out, but it turns out you’re just as unremarkable and clueless as the Winchesters.”

You shift to look up at her, but something flashes at the corner of your eye.

It’s the pointy end of that blade she slammed into the desk, inches from your left hand. A shard of silver, barely longer than the tip of your index finger.

Could that be useful? You spit, and a streak of red hits the marbly white tiles. Panic flares again; your face throbs so hard that your head aches with it. Yeah, you need that blade bit. If Naomi gets close, maybe you could use it. Somehow.

When you look, her back’s to you.

You reach out to steady yourself, but you close your hand over the bit of silver. As you shift onto your ass, you make like you’re gripping your throbbing ribs, and drop the thing in your jacket pocket.

When you turn back to Naomi, she’s still talking. Didn’t notice. But—

That Gyllenhaal angel is looking right at you. More panic paralyzes you, heart suddenly wild with fear. He saw you.  _He saw you._

Without breaking your gaze, he blinks. Like he’s weighing his options.

Well, Christ, if he’s hesitating—on a wild fucking chance, you narrow your thoughts and point them at him:  _Please. Please don’t._

His eyes snap away from yours before Naomi fills your vision, her gray tapered trousers pulling tight as she crouches beside you. “It’s incredible,” she says, with a kind of soft,  _I-pity-you_  sadness that makes you want to lurch up and wrap your hands around her throat. “Incredible that Castiel could ever want such a dullard.”

_Want_? You bring your sleeve up and wipe your mouth on it, lips clumsy with pain. Gyllenhaal still hasn’t said anything. “What d’you mean, want.”

She smiles. She doesn’t say “ _jackpot_ ,” but she may well have shouted it. “I was so concerned there was something more to you than it seemed. Something more than human, something special, that the Enochian on your ribs kept hidden. Something that would let you resist our conditioning the way Castiel did.”

Your stomach rolls. You wish you actually had something in your belly so that if it came up, you could aim for Naomi’s sensible pumps. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because of how badly he wants to take you to bed.”

Your heart lurches; your guts swoop in a completely different way.

Already grown tired of physical torture, has she? Gonna start with the sentimental bullshit you know better than to believe? Jesus. This is amateur hour.

Even if it’s a direct hit.

Her thin smile is triumphant. “You don’t believe me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“But you want to.”

Damn it. You hold your sleeve under your nose. Trying to glare as hard as you can. “Are you getting to a point?”

“Do you know why he was able to shake off our training?”

You remember Dean in the front seat of the Impala, peeling out of the lot of that old building. Without Meg. Without Cas. His voice, frantic: “Cas said  _I_  broke the connection with—with whoever that Naomi chick is. But I have no idea what the hell he meant.” Dragging his hand down his face, eyes frantic as they searched yours in the rear-view mirror.

Naomi says, “It wasn’t because of the ‘ _power of love_.’ It was because he’s a celestial being who’s been on this earth since before your genetic ancestors crawled out of the mud. Without a vessel, he’d render you a smoking pile of slop just from looking at him. We should have known that it would take more than what we did to acclimatize him to killing Dean.” She stands again, leaning back against the desk. “When we managed to grab you, too, I thought there might be an opportunity. A way to use you, given Castiel’s and Dean Winchester’s obsession with you. With so much of their faith and trust in you—you  _had_ to be more than you seemed. But no. You’re just as simple and stupid as all the other apes.”

You’re staring. Totally breathless, trying to process her words. “You’re wrong. They don’t—they have each other. They don’t want me.”

“Like I said. Stupid. Any fool can see the way he and Dean look at you. More than that; I have called Castiel to me in the midst of his relations with Dean, with echoes of your name on his lips, on both of theirs!”

What the fuck.

What the  _fuck._

She slams her blade down flat against the desk; it makes you jump. “You’ll be much easier to recondition. A few days with us, and you’ll be unstoppable. Dean and Sam won’t suspect you until it’s too late.”

Cold dread blocks out everything else. You fucking knew it. You  _knew it_ , you knew she was gonna pull this crap on you, train you to kill them and then make you forget you know how.

“You’ll kill them both and bring the tablets to me. We’ll keep Castiel here, so he can watch it happen without interfering.” She smiles. “But we’ll start on that tomorrow.” She reaches down, and touches your chin. Instantly the searing, throbbing pain in your face fades, replaced with cool, blessed  _nothing_. Your nose is healed. “No one knows where you are,” she says. “No one is coming for you. You and Castiel belong to us. Get used to it.”

“You’re wrong.” Your nails dig into your palms, fear pounding in your heart. Eyes prickling with tears. “You have no idea how freaking wrong you are.”

“I don’t think so.” She stands, moving to the other side of her desk. “Ion. Esper. Take her back to her cell. I’m sure Castiel misses her.” Her eyes glitter. “And I’m sure they have much to speak about.”

They yank you up by your arms. There’s just enough blood left in your mouth for you to spit a smear of it on Naomi’s desk before they drag you away.

_Dean,_ you think,  _wherever you are, you better hurry._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're still captive in one of Naomi's facilities, but now you know the truth: Dean and Cas really do want you just as much as you want them. With that knowledge on your side, you and Cas get the chance to fight your way out. Can you make it to Dean past a bevy of angels and Naomi herself, all without Cas' mojo?

When they shove you back in your cell, they don’t bother chaining you up again. They  _do_ shove hard enough that you crash into the far wall, sending more pain lancing up your cracked rib.

Ow.

As the lock clanks back in place, Cas shifts to his knees. They didn’t chain him up, either, except his hands are still locked into those spelled manacles. Naomi’s words float back to you:  _Any fool can see the way he and Dean look at you_.

She had to be making that shit up.

“M’okay.” It scrapes out of you as you sink to your haunches beside Cas. Everything hurts. You’re so fucking  _tired_. You want to sleep for a week, even though the two of you need to make good on your promise to Dean, to start figuring out how to get out of here. But frick, you just need a minute, and Cas looks so concerned.

“No, you’re not,” he says. God, he’s so—your heart aches. Even with blood on his face, drying in streaks down his now-buttoned shirt, he’s still beautiful.

“Yeah, well.” You get your ass on the ground at last. You’d been depending on those angels holding you up more than you realized. “You’re not doing great either.”

His chains click as he reaches for you. “Come here.” But it sounds more like a question as he takes your hand, pulls, gestures, and then suddenly you’re sitting sideways across his lap, rear on his thighs, and he pulls you so you’re leaning against his chest, face tucked in the crook of his neck. He loops his chained wrists around you, settles them against your hip. Your left hand’s in a knot in the front of his suit jacket, your right under his arm. Without even thinking you grip the back of his belt, grounding yourself, still trying to catch your breath.

Then you hear a faint ruffle, and the room goes quiet. Before there was a far-off, distant rumble you hadn’t even noticed. Noises from down the hall. You can still see, but it’s gotta be his wings again. Over you, surrounding you. Pulled forward to block the world out. It gets warmer almost instantly, just enough to be a relief.

“Cas?” It’s a mess in your throat.

“I’m here.” His mouth turns toward your ear. One of his hands gathers the fabric of your shirt, beneath your jacket, and  _grips_.

You just got the shit clobbered out of you. Your head’s pounding, you’re scratched and broken, and any minute now they’ll probably come back and decide they don’t need you alive, or start on Naomi’s conditioning—but leaned into Cas like this, so close, so familiar, his hand clenching and unclenching in the gathered fabric of your shirt—you feel  _safe_. Warm. Protected.

And a little turned on, if you’re honest.

All this heavy breathing, all the warmth where you were so cold, before, the feel of him dragging your shirt against your skin, like he can’t help but just  _touch_. How he’s so damn afraid for you. It makes your heart lurch, your air go short.  _How badly he wants to take you to bed_ , Naomi said.

Maybe—

Maybe Naomi really was telling the truth.

He murmurs, “What’d she do to to you?”

“Asked stuff, like you said.” You sniffle, closing your eyes. “Cas, she—she said she’s going to pull that same mind-control crap on me. Same as she did to you. Wants me to—kill Sam and Dean, and bring her the tablets.”

His hand clenches hard in your shirt, going still. He’s not even actually touching your skin but damn,the motion of his hand feels all kinds of good. “She won’t.”

“She sounded pretty fucking certain. Said she’s gonna start tomorrow. For all I know, she may have already started.”

“Maybe. You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I  _have_?” You rack your brain, like that’ll dredge up anything she repressed.

“It could just be that when we passed into that office and out of it, time moved differently. That was definitely heaven, where as this—this isn’t. When I get my grace back, I’ll be able to tell if she’s left a mark on you. If she’s left orders.” His hand starts moving again, and you breathe out slow. God, it feels good.

“Hngh.” Your lips brush his collar. “I’m not hurting you, like this?”

“No. Well. Not significantly.”

“Cas.”

“Please.” He rests his head against yours, the word so soft. “This is. Helping. You have no idea how much.”

“Me, too,” you whisper, still hiding in his neck. All around you, feathers rustle; it’s the only sound beside your labored breathing. You can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Even here.

God, Dean must—Dean must  _love this_. Must feel so protected, can probably crawl into Cas’ arms and these big wings will come up and envelop him and shut out the world, let him shake to bits without anyone else knowing.

You don’t mean to put so much desperation in it: “Is this how Dean feels all the time?”

Cas tenses beneath you, hand going still at your side. He lifts his head, turns to look at you. You’re so  _close_ to him, close like you were with Dean in that not-dream, and the way Cas is staring, with heat in his eyes. . . “I don’t know. All I know is—what I can do for him.”

A spike of arousal sends goosebumps thrilling across your arms. Somehow you whisper, “Tell me?”

He breathes out hard. His legs shift beneath yours and you start to move but he keeps you there, his right hand gripping again, fingers dragging your shirt against your skin as he goes. Around you, feathers rustle and tremble. He says, “I usually—after I heal the bigger injuries—” He licks his lips. “Let me show you.”

There’s a question in it, still. You somehow unknot your fingers from his jacket, and hold up your hand, close. There’s a raised scratch down the side, a long line from your pinkie knuckle. No blood, nothing open.

Cas looks at you, searching your eyes with his unfathomable blue ones, then looks at your hand. Tilts his chin up and then down, like,  _bring it closer._  You do as he leans for it and Jesus, his parted lips close around the scratch, hot and gentle, stinging just a bit; you can tell he means to sink grace into it. His tongue traces it tentatively, sending hot curls of arousal all the way up your arm, directly to your groin. You gasp, fingers curling into a fist, and his teeth scrape over it. You  _shiver_. “Oh, fuck.”

“Generally that follows.” He murmurs it against your skin, eyes back on yours. “After I’ve healed him. You—hn _nh_.” He swallows, arms going tight around you. Pulling you even closer as his legs shift beneath you. “You should see the way he comes apart under my hands.”

Oh, Christ. Good galloping  _fuck_. What in the hell—you are throbbing between your legs, overwarm and breathless in his grip. Open cuts on your hands still burn, bruises and muscles ache sharply, your rib still hurts like hell.

And yet.

You pour out your thought-prayers to him, emboldened because he can’t hear you.  _Cas, the things I’d do to you and Dean, the things I’d do_ with _you—I’ve wanted—god, fuck, I’d let you two tear into me as long as you held me after_ —

“There are. Things.” Cas noses at the space over your ear, his lips moving against the shell of it as he speaks, warm and familiar and  _close_. “Things I could tell you. Things I  _want_ to tell you. We both do.”

“ _Cas._ ” It’s a moan, nuzzled into his neck, and his sigh sends more goosebumps rioting across your skin.

“I—” He turns his face toward yours, and the honest, unguarded  _want_  in it would knock you on your ass if you weren’t already down. “But I can’t. Not without Dean here.”

“That’s. Yeah, that’s fair.” You slip your hand inside his jacket, around the curve of his ribs. His shirt isn’t slashed here; there aren’t any wounds to watch out for, and god, it’s warm.

He sighs under your touch, and shifts his hands, taking them from your waist to come up to your shoulder, resting there. His fingertips graze your forehead, manacles clicking by your ear. “I would show you everything, if I had my grace.”

You glance left, eyes catching on the symbols on his manacles. If only you could fuck them up somehow. Surely screwing up just one sigil would lessen the power of the whole thing. You’re willing to bet none of the rocks surrounding you could do the job, because why would they have left them in here with you otherwise? If only you had—

Oh, hey. If only you had an angel blade.

You go still with surprise, and Cas tenses, too. “No, no, it’s okay,” you say quickly, smoothing a hand up his side before reaching into your jacket pocket. “I just remembered something. Something good.”

You surface with the blade piece in your palm, leaning your knuckles against one of Cas’ lapels to keep it hidden between you. The silver glints in the low light, luminous even without the rest of the blade.

Cas’ eyes dart up to yours, stunned. “How did you. . .”

“Naomi was pissed.” You shudder at the memory. His arms tighten, a silent soothe. “She slammed her blade down and this went flying. Later I got nearly eye-to-eye with it and just scooped it up. But Cas, the guy with the beard—the all-over one, not the pointy one—he saw me.”

“Ion. He didn’t speak up?”

“Not a word.”

Cas presses his lips together. “I’m not sure whether that means we’re safe. They may have let you get away with it on purpose to turn it against you later.”

“Wondered the same. But I also wonder. . .” You reach up, tracing the cold metal of his cuffs with your fingertips where he still balances it on your shoulder. “Do you think it’s strong enough to break any of these symbols?”

His eyebrows lift. “It may be. Here.” He shifts, pulling the circle of his arms over your head and to him so he can get a better angle on his hands. You shift, too, thinking maybe you should finally get off his damn legs, but his fingers grip into the fabric of your jacket, stilling you. Eyes pleading just a bit. “You don’t have to.”

It’s so simple, but it makes your heart skip again. He wants you close. He  _has_ wanted you close. He and Dean both. It seems wrong to want to smile this big, considering the circumstances, but you can’t help it. “Then I won’t.”

He smiles back, tremulous but lovely. “Good.”

You quickly discover that you’re gonna need a hell of a lot more pressure on the blade bit to have any effect. You bloody your fingertips instantly, despite the decent angle you find to work the blade piece. Cas can’t even try; the manacles, instead of being linked with a chain in the middle, are a kind of flat, broad sandwich situation with no latch that you can see. They keep his wrists a few inches apart with a symbol-covered bar of metal, making it impossible for him to reach the middle with any force.

“ _Aah_ , shit,” you hiss, pain biting deep into your fingertips. More blood spills onto the symbols, and you let go of his wrist where you’re keeping it steady. How he’s so warm, you have no idea. “Fuck. This isn’t gonna work.”

“What about. . .” He looks around, pulls his hands to the side. Around you, feathers rustle softly. He comes back with a lump of stone that was part of the debris on the ground. You take it with your good hand, and feel the indent in the surface. You could balance the blade piece in that, and put way more pressure on it with the rock.

“Yeah.” Your hands shake, but you fit the blade piece to the indent. “Good thinking.”

You take his wrist again, setting the flat part of the manacle against your leg, just up from your knee. His fingers curl around your leg there, tight, and heat lances up your body. “You can do this,” he murmurs. Forehead against your temple. “All the force you can. If that doesn’t work, we’ll try to whittle it away.”

You nod, releasing your lower lip where you had it in your teeth. “Apologizing in advance if I hurt you.”

It’s soft, trusting: “You won’t.”

You position the rock-blade at one end of the manacles, then snap your arm forward.

Sparks light up the space between you, not orange but white, blinding in the dark, and the Enochian on the manacles burns blue-hot for a second, a long scrape trailing where the blade split them, and then—

Your vision whites out as a force  _flings_ you from Cas, slamming you into the opposite wall like a demon’s just flicked its fingers—

The pain in your ribs lessens ’til it’s barely an achy bruise, your other deep-set bruises suddenly cool and melt away, your sliced fingertips close and heal, your throbbing headache recedes—

 _You blink and you’re not in a filthy jail cell, you’re back in your motel room from the other day, but it’s not realtime; everything about it feels like_ memory _and like_ I would show you everything, if I had my grace _, and you remember Cas’ fingertips at your temple, and then you realize that it is absolutely, one hundred percent_ not _your room, because the bed’s on the opposite side of the wall and Dean and Cas are in it, on it, naked and golden in the lamplight, Cas moving over Dean, their fingertips interlaced, their ragged groans filling the room with every slow, slick stroke back in. “This is how I’d take her,” Cas growls in Dean’s ear, and Dean’s brows slant upward in helpless bliss. “So slow, so she could feel every inch—can you even imagine how wet she’d be for us, the sounds she’d make—”_

_“Cas, fuck,” Dean gasps, “I thought we were gonna—ahh—get this under control, thought we shouldn’t. . .”_

_“I know, but she just—_ oh _.” He bows his head between Dean’s shoulder blades. “Being this close to both of you, I can’t, I can’t—”_

_“Yeah, that’s it.” Dean rolls his hips back into Cas. “Fuck, c’mon, just like that. You gonna say her name this time, or d’you want me to?”_

_“You,” Cas groans, letting go of Dean’s hands so he can brace himself and just let go, the arch of his back and the muscles shifting in his shoulders so beautiful, so mouthwateringly obscene. “You, you, please Dean—”_

_Dean groans your name, gasps it when Cas yanks his hips up, gasps it again when Cas slips a hand between Dean’s legs, stroking slow and deliberate as—_

The grim blue-dark of the prison cell melts back into your vision.

You’re on your back, blinking at the dark ceiling, breathless. As you get back onto your ass, arms shaking, Cas is just—staring at you. Wide-eyed. Chest heaving as he catches his breath.

The cuts on his jacket are gone; there’s still blood on his face but even in the crappy lighting you can tell the scrapes beneath have healed. Same with you; your rib hurts only a little, which is a vast improvement, and you’re full to bursting with energy and adrenaline. “Cas?” It strangles on the way out.

“It, uh.” His eyes are wide, dragging up and down your body. “It seems these cuffs fix themselves. But you damaged them for a moment, and I. It was enough time to. To heal both of us.”

Your mouth is so dry. You press a hand over your pounding heart. “I saw. Cas, I saw what you tried to show me.”

His brows arch helplessly; he swallows. “And I heard every prayer you sent me, and Dean’s. Heard them all at once.”

Oh.  _Oh_.

Your voice rasps when you say, “So you know why I got us into this mess in the first place.”

“Yes.”

“And you.” Your throat closes. You try again. “You know what I was doing, on the other side of that wall. At the motel, the other night.”

His lips part and his eyes dip shut. Like he can’t even handle how hot it is. Heat riots through you when he almost growls, “Yes.”

Wingbeats  _fwump_  and for a second you think it’s Cas, but no, it was  _outside_ the cell, and then you hear, “Hello, Castiel.”

Cas’ eyes snap to the bars as he eases up to his haunches. He doesn’t speak. Even in the manacles, he holds one hand out like he’s steadying himself, but his fingers are splayed toward you. A silent  _stay there. Out of sight_.

You stay still. He isn’t trying to protect you; he wants to use you as a surprise if he can.

“Naomi’s still tormenting your girlfriend, is she?” The angel’s voice outside the cell is definitely a dude’s, but not one you recognize.

“I wouldn’t know,” Cas says, low and pissed. He unfolds, standing to his full height, and his invisible wings rustle. How have you never heard them before? Does he just let you, now? “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You inch up, quiet and careful, propping yourself on the balls of your feet. Ready to spring up if he needs you.

“Chyeah, right. Everybody says—”

Cas starts moving toward the door. “Everybody’s wrong.”

“I went by Naomi’s office earlier. Saw the mess she made of her. Everything you’ve been through with that human, and you’re telling me you don’t care what happens to her?”

“Did I say that?” Cas is right up against the bars now.

The other guy is, too apparently. “I ought to go back and take a better look. Bet she’s screaming her lungs out by now. Like you were.”

In the pause, you can practically taste Cas’ anger, the way he fights it back. When he speaks, it’s so dark it’s a  _rumble_. “At least she had time.”

You know in your bones what to do. You snap to your feet and fall in beside Cas.

It works; the angel jumps, startled, and tries to stumble backward. You reach through the bars, grab the lapel of his suit jacket, and use his unbalance to yank him forward with all your might. His body slams into the bars.

You barely catch the flash of that silver blade piece before Cas jams it into the angel’s eye. He’s right—the guy doesn’t even have time to gasp before his eyes go molten and Cas says in your ear “ _Let go_ ” and pulls you away, the rustle of wings encircling you even as you cover your eyes with your arm as light bursts into the cell.

When it fades, the angel’s slumped against the outside of the bars. Cas moves to get down beside him. You follow, crouching shoulder to shoulder with Cas. “Holy shit,” you mutter. Beneath your shoes, blackened wing imprints still smoke. You hold out a fist. “Fuckin’—teamwork, dude.”

He bumps his knuckles into yours, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Teamwork.” He reaches for the folds of the guy’s jacket with both hands.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans. “How long you think we got before we get caught?”

“I can’t believe we haven’t been.” He winces, brings his hands back. “Can you reach his sleeve? Carefully. There should be a blade just above his wrist.”

Sure enough, silver’s glinting in your hand in just a moment. “Can we do worse damage to your cuffs this way?”

“No. They’ll only unlatch for someone with the right wording. I don’t have it, but Naomi does. Some of the other high-rankers should. And even if I  _did_ know the words, it’s useless. It won’t open for someone wearing them.”

“How d’you know?”

“She told me earlier. When they stopped working a few minutes ago, I made sure.  _But_. We can open this door.”

“We can?”

“These symbols. . .” His fingers trace over one of them on the bars. “They’re mostly for non-humans. Non-angels. The lock’s a mechanism like any other. May I?” He holds out a hand, still awkward with the cuffs.

You flip the blade in your grip, and hand it to him hilt-first. The corner of his mouth twitches again. “Yes,” you say, moving out of his way as he shifts toward the lock. “I’m showing off.”

His smile brims with heated delight. “I don’t mind.” He slips the blade through the bars, slams it downward, and the door springs open with a  _clang_. He twirls the blade in his hand with a bit more flourish, and suddenly the hilt’s pointing back at you. “So am I.”

The door’s open. Freedom.

Man, it’s never that easy.

You take the blade and follow him into the empty hallway. “You sure you don’t want this?”

“Graceless or not, I can hold my own in a—”

From overhead, there’s a brief, metallic  _FWERRP._ An alarm system. Then another one:  _FWERRP_. Lights spring on in the hall, a weird, glowing blue-violet.

Panic freezes you.  _FWERRP_. “Cas?”

He’s frowning, glancing up and down the hall. “I—”  _FWERRP._  “I don’t actually think that’s for us.”

You take a backwards grip on the blade. “Then who’s it for?”

“When I heard all of your prayers, just now—I heard all of Dean’s, too. And his have grown stronger. Closer. I think he’s nearby, with backup.”

Elation swells beneath your ribs, bright and warm. “Backup? What backup?”

“I don’t know. But we should find Naomi.”

You stick to his left side. It’s almost  _more_ terrifying to be out of your cell, the knowledge that you could be caught any second. “You figure out where we actually are?” Overhead, the alarm continues to blare.

“Old factory. East of Sevierville.” You rack your brain. Eastern Tennessee, Dean said of your phone’s GPS location. Guess he was right. “They’ve rigged some of the hallways to lead to heaven, but there’s a main room with exits—”

 _Fwump_.

Two angels fan out in front of you with a third behind your elbow, all three with blades out; Cas puts the brakes on and you nearly run into him.

“Castiel,” says the lead one, and she sounds impressed. “How did you get out?”

Fuck. You’ve got the blade in your right hand. If Cas had it he could throw it with his deadly accuracy. Instead you need to get close. Close enough that you can take a swing, or so Cas can fight them with his bound hands.

Nope, this isn’t going to work.

“Who cares?” says the lady beside you. “Drop the blade and we’ll get you back to your cell without any trouble.”

Well, actually.

You hold up your hands in surrender, turning the blade in your right hand so you grasp it carefully by the point. Like you’re about to drop it. The lady flinches closer like she means to scare you; you edge closer to Cas but keep your grip on the blade, thinking at him loudly as you can, hoping that maybe the fuzz of your thoughts will make him really consider what you’re doing:  _Cas, take this, I’m going to drop it—_

“ _Now_!” barks the lady, and you open your hand.

The handle  _clap_ s as Cas catches it, and then he’s a blur. The angel in front of him flares up burning-bright.

You catch her blade as it drops and whip around to the one beside you; she’s so surprised that you bury it in her side and crank down on the handle, forcing the blade up toward her heart. Cas has the third one on the ground even as you turn around.

Just like that, the hallway’s empty again. The alarm continues to  _FWERRP_  overhead.

Adrenaline’s rushing your limbs. Blood shines wet on your blade, dark in the weird light. Cas is panting as hard as you as he looks you over. He straightens out of his fighting stance, blade still in his manacled hand. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” You look him over, too. Fighting’s a good look on him. Navy blue is a damn good look on him.  _He wants you_ , you remind yourself.  _You get out of this, and he and Dean are gonna_ —Jesus, focus. “Yeah, let’s go.”

It doesn’t take long for the route to feel familiar. Maybe those  _up, left, right, rights_  really did sink in.

Cas says, “If the place is under lockdown, Naomi will be alone. Once she removes these, we can decide whether or not to spare her.”

“What?” Seriously? All this, and you won’t even get to kill her? “Are we seriously going to leave her alive?”

“She may yet be useful. I don’t want to kill her until we’re sure.”

You want to end her. You want the satisfaction of Cas getting to take back everything she took from him.

He keeps moving. “If she refuses to free me, I’ll happily kill her. I’ll happily let you  _help_. But until then, we’ll see if she can be of use.”

There’s light around the next corner. Cas slows, pausing, eyeing the space that must lead to Naomi’s office. For the first time, you feel him hesitate.

You slip your fingers into the crook of his arm, over the warm fabric of his jacket. Beneath it, his muscles are tense with tremors. You tighten your grip. “Hey. For what it’s worth, I’m with you. Don’t have to go it alone this time.”

He looks back at you, brows slanting up. He’s scared as you are. “It’s worth everything.” He kisses your forehead, slow and lingering. “Let’s go.”

Through the glass doors, Naomi’s office glows with that strange violet-blue, the formerly white wall now backlit with those colors. Naomi’s sitting at her desk, her back to the doors. She doesn’t even flinch when you and Cas pull them open.

“Progress report,” she snaps, without turning.

You and Cas split around her desk, he to the left, you to the right. He says, “Two prisoners have escaped their cells.”

She swivels toward him and starts to jump up—but you reach up and grab the back of her collar, yanking her back into her seat. To your surprise, she actually falls into it with an undignified yelp, and like  _that_ , you’ve got your blade pulled up taut beneath her chin.

You can feel it in your wrist when she snaps, “What do you want?”

Cas looms over her, but you speak first: “Get those cuffs off of Cas.”

He spins the blade in his hand, elegant even with the manacles, angling the point toward Naomi. “What she said.”

“Right.” Naomi’s voice wavers. “Because little miss lawful good’s going to cut my throat if I don’t.”

Anger flares in your chest; you pull the blade tighter against her jawbone. Only the knowledge that Cas wants her alive keeps you from doing anything worse. “You know how easy this would be? Everything you’ve done to Cas, all the shit you made him do to Dean, everything you planned for me? It’s harder right now  _not_ to kill you where you sit.”

Cas is staring at you with a kind of grim admiration before he focuses back down at Naomi. He holds up his wrists. “Say the words.”

“What promise do I have that you won’t kill me after I speak them?”

Silver flashes; Cas flicks the end of his blade down her cheek, identical to the slash wound she gave him. “You don’t,” he says. “But if you don’t release me, I promise we’ll kill you where you sit.”

You pull the blade up just a  _bit_ more. Just letting your shaking hand do most of the work.

When she speaks, her voice is unsteady, but there it is: deep, long syllables of Enochian.

You hear the mechanism spring, and a high-pitched tone bursts out of Cas; light floods your eyes, but not so much you have to look away. Black shadows snap from Cas’ shoulders, climb high over his head, shadowed against the ceiling. The overhead lights crackle and burst, raining sparks around the perimeter.

And Naomi’s wearing the manacles now.

In the comedown, that high noise fading, Cas glows, back in his overcoat and  _pissed_. He flicks his eyes up to you. They’re shining gold and blue, and you get it, clear as if he spoke aloud:  _lower your blade_.

You do. He drags Naomi out of her seat, barks two short notes of Enochian, and the hook that held him up earlier drops out of the ceiling. He lifts Naomi’s wrists and deposits her there by the manacles.

When he looks back at you, his eyes shine regular blue. He holds out a hand and you  _go_ ; he tangles your fingers together at his side. Naomi is hissing Enochian, but it’s not doing a lick of good.

“Let’s get one thing clear.” Cas’ voice is furious,  _deep_. The lights around the ceiling spit sparks. “We don’t belong to you. We don’t belong to  _anyone_. You can reach into our heads, we can kill a thousand copies of each other—but until you figure out how to change our hearts, we will always,  _always_  win.”

“We sent legions after you.” She’s hissing like a cat, all spit and hackles. “Do you have any idea how many angels we lost, fighting to get you out of Purgatory? And this is how you repay us?”

“I didn’t ask you to rescue me!” The desk light explodes. “That was  _your_ decision! I was prepared to do my penance, but  _you_ decided you needed a pawn in this game. Next time, pick someone smart enough to follow your orders without question. You and I are finished.”

“Then end it,” she snaps. “If you had half the guts these humans think you do, you’d put that blade through my throat.”

Cas just smiles. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” His hand is tight in yours, like he’d be lost without its anchor. “I’m going to leave you strung up here and on your own. All your informants, all your lieutenants—they’re off dealing with our friends. You think they can spare a single second to listen to the screams of someone who sounds like a human? They won’t. They’ll think it’s her.” His head tilts your way. “So you can just hang here until they come back for you, and see the truth of it: a seraph and a human bested you with barely a struggle.” He looks down at you, his whole body humming with grace, brimming with it in a way that makes your toes curl with pleasure. “Am I forgetting anything?”

You consider this, turning the blade so you’ve got a good grip on the handle. Point-down. Naomi follows the movement, fear stark in her eyes. “Just one thing.”

Breaking Naomi’s nose with your hilt-strengthened hand should not feel as frigging satisfying as it does, but her yelp, the pain that momentarily lances your knuckles—it’s so worth it. Blood’s pouring out of her nose in no time. You back up before she can think to spit it down your front.

Her eyes stream, and she’s breathing through her teeth. Completely livid, blood all down the front of her formerly-pristine white shirt.

Cas takes your free hand again, easy as anything, and the throb in your other set of knuckles fades instantly. “Cas,” you say, still looking at her, “let’s find Dean.”

“You’ll never reach him,” Naomi snaps. “He and his friend will be dead before they can even—”

“Naomi?” Cas’ voice is cold enough to crack glass. “Fuck off.”

Her shrieks follow you out to the hall, and fade the instant her office door shuts.

When you’re out of sight, Cas deflates a little. He pauses where you’d both stopped before, panting but smiling. He holds up a fist. “Teamwork?”

You give him some knuckles. You wish like hell you could kiss him. “Serious teamwork.”

“Suffice to say that if Dean already knew of this—neither of us would be doing much speaking right now.”

 _Oh_ , all right. At least you’re on the same page. You suppress a delighted shiver. “We should get to him. Naomi said he’s here?”

He nods. “Yes. Other side of the facility. I can take us.” He reaches up to thumb gently down your cheek. So much tenderness in it, in the way he looks at you. “It may be a fight.”

You take a deep, steadying breath. “I’m ready.”

He turns so he’s beside you, then aims two fingers at your temple.

In one agonizing jolt, the world condenses to a pinprick and then explodes outward, completely different.

Warehouse floor. Dead angels at your feet, smoking wingprints. Two angels with their backs to you, facing—

Dean and Benny, shoulder to shoulder, hands up in placating gestures, gaping at you and Cas.

Wait a second.

 _Benny_?

You instantly recall Dean’s worry in that not-dream, the fear that Sam wouldn’t be enough to fight their way in.  _I’m working on it_ , he said. This is the solution, huh?

Hell yes.

They’re panting hard and covered in scrapes; Dean’s got a cut over his brow that’s streaking blood down the side of his face and Benny has slashes in his jacket, his mouth red and shining down to his chin. He’s still glowering from the heat of the fight, but Dean’s looking back and forth between you and Cas, stricken.

The angels turn toward you. Ion’s one of them, and you recognize the other as the angel holding the iPad from Naomi’s office.

In their moment of shock, Benny lunges at the iPad angel.

Its yell is drowned out in the high-pitched tone, but Dean’s already moving, charging Ion. The bullrush knocks the angel off his feet; you actually glimpse his shining black shoes in the air before the other angel’s light whites out everything else.

When you lower your arm, Dean and Ion are skidding to a halt at your feet, Ion on his back, arm with his blade thrown wide. With a curse, you drop, pinning his forearm with your knee while Cas grapples the blade out of his hand, and then Dean’s got the point of his own blade shoved against the stubbed skin beneath Ion’s jaw. “Don’t move,” he snarls, and Ion doesn’t.

Dean looks up at you and Cas, still gasping in air. “What’s up,” he says, definitely meaning it to be casual, but there’s a crack in it. Total desperation.

Almost as much desperation as in that memory of him whimpering your name, fucking into Cas’ fist as he tipped over the edge.

You remind yourself again:  _Focus._ “Not much,” you say, and damn, your voice cracks, too. You’re so close you could touch his face. “Just, y’know, helping with your rescue operation.”

“Thanks for that.” Benny’s moseyed closer, and leans a heavy boot against Ion’s other arm. “Little late, but.”

“We’ll take it.” Dean’s eyes are all wibbly. He swallows hard, then his brows lower as he looks down. His voice grinds over itself. “All right. Here’s how it’s going down. We’re gonna hand you the tablets—”

“Dean.” Cas cuts in, sharp, disbelieving. “You didn’t actually bring them here.”

Benny pulls Kevin’s half of the demon tablet out of his coat and waggles it. Dean pulls at his jacket, so you can see how heavy the inside pocket is. “Yeah. We did.”

Your blood’s gone cold. This was all you guys had. No fucking way you can give the angels that much power.

“No.” Cas is nearly pleading. “You can’t—the advantage it would give them—”

“Damn it, Cas, yes we— _hey._ ” Ion tries to lurch free under the four of you, but Dean draws a quick, deep cut down the angel’s shoulder. Ion shouts, light spilling out of the gash, blood darkening the gray of his suit. “Gonna get to you in asecond,” Dean says, then looks back up at you and Cas. “Listen, you two, I’m not leaving here without you. I don’t care if it’s selfish. Just this freakin’ once—I’m choosing us, okay. I need you. I need  _both_ of you. We can find a way to get the stupid rocks back later, but these are the only cards I got left to play, and damn it, you’re gonna let me play them.”

Cas sways closer to you, his vivid blue stare alighting on yours. He brushes his fingers against the back of your hand.

Instantly you hear Dean’s voice like he’s speaking your ear, but it’s just Cas letting you hear what Dean’s  _thinking_ , his own thought-prayers directed at Cas, and it’s all kinds of frantic and hopeful: — _fake, Cas, they’re fakes, Kevin and Sam cooked up a spell and these tablets are total fakes, we can dump them and run and it’ll buy us time—need you both, need to get out of here—_

  
Cas drops his fingers, still looking at you. “All right,” he says, visibly shaken, like he still  _hates_ the idea. Playing right along. “Dean. Fine.”

Dean looks at you next, pleading. You nod, gulping. “Yeah. I—yeah, man.”

A rage-quiet calm settles over his face again. He looks down at Ion. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna hand over the tablets. We’re gonna let you live. Then me’n my friends here are gonna leave. And nobody’s gonna follow us. None of your buddies are gonna flap-ass after us.  _Got it_?”

Ion gulps. “Yes. I—I got it.”

Dean nods. “Good. Don’t move.” He stands slowly, keeping his blade pointed. You and Cas follow him up. With the same caution, he and Benny set the tablets on the ground, then take several steps back.

Dean looks at Cas. “S’get the hell out of here.”

There’s a gentle touch against your forehead, and the world compresses.

This time, Cas comes with you.

* * *

The rolling thunder of the Impala’s throttle opening up has never sounded so glorious. It sounds like  _safety_  and it sounds like  _freedom._ Like you’re putting miles between you and those shitty few days. Dean can’t stop looking over at you, or glancing at Cas in the rear-view mirror.

“You’re sure you guys are okay,” he says for only the fortieth time since you tore out of that hidden side road. After an all-too-brief hug. After Cas gestured you into the front seat with a quirk of one brow.

“Yeah.” You’re touched by Dean’s concern. If only you could only stop thinking about touching  _him_. And Cas. Now that you’re out of there, it’s hard to think about anything else. Hard to stop replaying that image in your mind, that scene Cas gave you. “Dean, we’re fine.”

“And I checked on you,” Cas says, leaning toward you from behind Dean. His long fingers on your shoulder. “Whatever conditioning Naomi threatened you with, she hadn’t started. You’re clear.”

“Threatened?” Dean echoes.

“Conditioning?” says Benny.

“Yeah, she—said she was gonna do to me what she did to Cas. Train me to kill you and Sam to bring her the tablets.”

The leather steering wheel creaks under Dean’s hands. “And you guys  _didn’t_ smite the shit out of her?”

“It’s what she wanted.” Cas leans back. “Leaving her alive was the right thing to do.”

“Got a fucked-up sense of what’s right,” Benny drawls. He’s cleaned the blood off his jaw by now. He killed angels, but their vessels were human, with human blood, and you saw the torn-out throat on one of them. “But hey, we’re alive, so I’ll take it.”

“Still a lot of blood,” Dean says, looking at you again.

He’s right. Your sleeves are still covered with it from your adventures in broken-nose-ville, your hands are still all scraped up. You can feel a couple bruises lingering. Weird that Cas hasn’t fixed—

Oh. You think back to you and Cas in that cell.  _All I know is what I can do for him_. Apparently, Cas literally kisses wounds away. Did he leave your minor scrapes so he can do that, later? The space over your formerly-cracked rib is tender, and you imagine him mouthing over it, the heat in his eyes as he looks up at you.

Holy shit. You’re going to incinerate under their hands, aren’t you.

You lick your lips, trying to steady your breathing. “Seriously, Dean, I’m fine. Should we call Sam? Let him know we made it out?”

Sam’s relieved as hell. You can tell he’s pissed about being left behind, but he’s happy to hear your voice. Happy that the tablet fake-out worked. “When are you guys heading back?”

Dean says, “We’re gonna get to the motel and regroup. Go from there. Sounds like Benny may head home.”

“Right. Okay. Let me know.”

When Dean hangs up, you say, “Listen, I know we’re fleeing, or whatever—but holy shit, I’m so friggin’ hungry.”

“Yeah,” says Cas. “You would be, you haven’t eaten in days.”

“Wait a sec,  _days_?” Dean’s fingers are splayed above the wheel, a  _hold the fuck on_ gesture. “Did you say days?”

“Apparently angels don’t like to deal with digestion,” you say. “Seriously, I would shank any one of you for a burger right now.”

Dean holds out his phone, and when you take it, your fingers slip over his. It wouldn’t mean a single thing but for the way his eyes lock on yours. He clears his throat, says, “Find us a place. I could use some grub, too.”

In half an hour, Dean’s pulled the Impala onto a wide shoulder, which is framed for thirty yards by a low stone wall and a smattering of lookout telescopes. The view is breathtaking, a vast span of misty-green mountains, and it’s  _quiet_. A couple of cars are parked down the way, people milling about, but the four of you have this end to yourselves.

Soon as Cas is out of the car, Dean sets his takeout bag on the roof and crowds Cas against the door to kiss him.

Longing rears up in your chest, entirely different from what you felt in the warehouse the other day.  _Holy crap,_  you think at Cas, hoping this is okay,  _you two are so gloriously hot together._

Even from the other side of the car, you hear the hitched groan in Cas’ sigh.

 _Guh_.

“God almighty,” says Benny, shutting his door and leaning on it. “Wait ’til you two get back to the motel, at least.”

You manage a smirk. “Just like Purgatory all over again, huh?”

“Kid.” He always turns  _kid_ into two separate syllables.  _Ke-id_. You kind of adore it, especially when he calls Dean and Cas  _kid_ , too. “You have no idea.”

When Dean and Cas break apart, you and Dean prop up on the broad, flat stone wall and open your foam takeout boxes. The aroma hits your nose and you damn near have to sleeve the drool away.  _Food_. “Holy shit,” you mutter, peeling the foil off your burger as your stomach rumbles.

Benny still leans nearby, having stashed a blood bag in an opaque Big-O Slush cup. Cas leans against the frontmost passenger-side fender, brow furrowed, looking out at the view.

“I think we’re safe,” he says, while you do your best to take dignified bites. “I’m keeping an ear out for chatter. From what I can tell, they still haven’t discovered that the tablets are fakes.”

“Idiots.” Dean says it with a full mouth.

You’re eyeing Benny, whose shades are pointed at you. His straw is dark on the inside. You swallow a huge bite so you can say, “Can’t believe you came all this way, Benny.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, his grin still white. Not stained with the contents of that cup. “Dean called in such a mess, I had to come runnin’.”

“What  _mess_ ,” Dean protests immediately. “There was no mess. There was calm, reasonable. . . reasonableness.”

Cas has arched a brow at Dean. “Yes, that sounds like you.”

You nearly choke on your laugh, covering your mouth with a hand. Cas winks at you.

“Yeah.” Benny sips again, then gestures to you and Cas with his straw. “You two know better than to believe that crock when he dishes it out, don’cha.”

“I would hope so,” you say. Cas comes over to sit on the low wall behind Dean, his shoulder against Dean’s back. You dab a fry in ketchup. “Point is, really glad you’re here. Thanks, man.”

You pop the fry in your mouth and look up. Cas is drawing his fingers away from Dean’s hand, and Dean’s green-eyed gaze burns at you like he’s just figuring something out.  _Did Cas tell_ —? Heart thudding, you glance back at Benny.

Benny’s shrugging. “It’s no trouble. Got a new gig outside Shreveport. Boss is real friendly.” Behind his shades, his eyebrows briefly dart up and down. “Happy to give me a coupla days to visit some old friends.”

Dean shakes his head as if to clear it, and looks over. “I really owe you one, buddy.”

“No, you don’t.” Benny grins. “Just glad I could help.”

You chew another fry. “You gonna stick around for awhile?”

“Naw. Gonna get back on the road soon as we get back to my car at the motel.”

Whatever’s gonna happen when you get back there, you’re sorry you won’t get more time with Benny. “I ought to see if I can make it down there sometime soon. I’ve never been to Louisiana.”

“You haven’t? Well, then.” His smile is tickled. “Come on down. I’ll save you some beignets.”

On the ride back, you can tell Dean’s just itching to talk. Needs to speak. You both pass a milkshake back and forth the whole way there, Dean’s fingers slipping over yours with a little too much intent to be accidental.

You’re surprised at how nice the motel is. A long row of rooms, three stories, with a long, tidy lot in front of it. It looks almost new, like maybe it was built in the last ten years, and there’s an actual covered drive outside the honest-to-goodness lobby. Woods surround the place, green and lush.

Benny gets his bag out of the trunk, then Dean disappears under the sun-hot metal and surfaces with your own duffel in his hands. “Never took it out,” he says, gruff as he hands it over. “Figured you’d want it back.”

Your lower lip feels wobbly as you heft the bag. Clean clothes. All your stuff. Benny thumps your shoulder, says gently, “Nothin’ like the promise of fresh PJs, huh.”

“Yeah.” You grin at Dean, who’s still looking at you, something soft and lovely in his gaze. “Definitely.”

Benny’s ride is an old pickup truck with some seriously gnarly wooden slats sticking out of the bed. He jingles his keys in his hand and awkwardly tries to say goodbye until you step forward for a hug. That’s more his style. He scoops you right off the ground, pressed tight to his barrel chest; the bruise over your rib protests only a little. “Startin’a see why these two wouldn’t shut up aboutcha in Purgatory,” Benny says near your ear. “Fierce little thing, aren’t you.”

It makes you feel all fragile. So grateful to him. “Hey, so are you.” When he sets you down, you smile up at him. “Thanks again.”

“Any time. Happy to come back for any other thrilling adventures.” He shakes hands with Cas, then with Dean, but pulls Dean into a one-armed hug.

“Seriously,” Dean says. Even  _he_ looks fragile. “Benny, I just. Thanks, man.”

Benny grins. “See you around, brother. Cas, you keep these two outta trouble.”

“As if anyone could,” Cas says, warm.

Benny’s truck gutters down the road; he sticks one arm out in a wave before he disappears around a curve, and the sound of the engine fades away as it picks up speed.

Leaving just the three of you.

Your back’s against the Impala’s passenger side. Cas is quiet at your right, his hip against the door. Close but not touching. Dean walks back toward you both, hands in his jacket pockets, then leans his hip against the door to your left. Framing you.

Your entire body tunes to the implications. To the weight of the unspoken  _finally alone._

You still have no idea if Dean knows. If Cas told him or not.

When he speaks, he can’t seem to meet Cas’ eyes. “Cas, I know you feel like you gotta collect that tablet and run, but. . .” He scuffs the toe of his boot. Rubs under his nose, looks away. “Really wouldn’t mind you stickin’ around for a bit.”

Cas audibly swallows. “I wouldn’t mind, either.”

Your hands are deep in your own jacket pockets. You pay complete, undivided attention to a patch of asphalt in front of you. Your heart thuds hard.

Dean says, “Kid, you. You ever give Cas that message I gave you? From that dream?”

You look up at him, heat rolling from your face down your neck, out to your ears. You aren’t sure you’ve ever let yourself just return his green-gold gaze so boldly, and you do now, relishing the way it makes your pulse quicken.  Yeah, you decide. He’s definitely gotta know. “Never got the chance.”

Cas says, “Message?”

You meet Cas’ blue, open stare. “That dream I was gonna tell you about? Dean was there. I mean actually there. He said there was something I should give you.” You glance back at Dean. “Should I give him what you gave me? Or the ‘real thing’?”

Dean’s lips part; he sways closer. Braces himself on the Impala’s roof at your shoulder. “Ah. Dealer’s choice.”

Cas’ gaze is full of questions, but it’s full of trust, too, and somehow you make yourself reach up, brush your hand past his overcoat to get a grip on the jacket beneath. “Cas. Can you—” You gulp;  _damn_ , your heart’s beating so fucking hard. This is everything. This moment you’ve imagined so many times but never, ever dared hope for, never. “C’mere.”

He steps forward, so close you  _feel_ it when he breathes out shakily. Shit, if he’s nervous as you are—you shift, pulling him even closer, then you tilt up into his space, not daring to look any higher than the soft pink of his parted lips—and press your mouth to the corner of his. Stubble prickles before you ease back, and Cas’ eyes are wide, stunned. “He did that,” you manage. “But I really wanted the other thing.”

Dean breathes out, a low hum—a  _groan_ , barely stifled. The thought that he wants you that badly, that he wants to see this. . .

Cas murmurs, “Then take it.”

You aim just a little over this time, letting your eyes fall shut, and he reaches up to cover your hand the instant your mouths meet.

His whole body melts and melds against yours, pressing you against the Impala even as his other hand slips to the small of your back, tugging you closer on a sigh as he opens to your kiss, holding for just a moment before he releases you, nudging your noses together before aiming for your lower lip this time, pulling it in slow and easy as he slips his tongue across it, and you light up to that, tracing your tongue along his now, and—

Dean mutters, “Jesus, fuck.”

Arousal pours through you; you surge up against Cas, licking deeper, and your hips bump up against something insistent and steadily becoming  _more_ insistent. It makes you squeak into his mouth and he smiles against you. He pulls back a bit to tilt your foreheads together. You’re both panting,  _way_ too fucking worked up from one kiss. Somehow you manage to look over at Dean, grinning shakily at him. “That what you meant to give me?”

He draws his lower lip into his mouth, staring at yours. He’s all tightly-wound tension; you can feel it ready to snap. A bowstring pulled taut, quivering with the promise of letting loose. “You wanna find out?”

Holy hell, do you. “Yeah. Dean—fuck, yes.”

He crowds closer but doesn’t displace your grip on Cas as he cups your face in one hand. His thumb over your cheek, his other hand settling at your waist. Big and  _warm_. Fuck, he smells as good as he did in that dream.

Then his forehead’s against yours and you’re closing your eyes and his fingers come up just under your chin, the lightest pressure, the faintest suggestion. You go with it, knees jellifying as you tip up toward him.

His lips nudge into yours, fitting warm and soft together. He lets out this little  _ungh_ in the back of his throat, then his fingers slide back into your hair and he opens your mouth with his. His tongue’s there, a slow slide past your lips,  _fuck_. Cas detaches your fingers to fit them against Dean’s side, under his ivory henley, alighting on the warm, smooth skin of his waist, and Cas’ fingers flex against yours as you tighten your grip.

Dean’s whole body surges under your combined touch, and he pulls back, hand gone taut in your hair, his other hand moved to the small of your back, overwarm. “Guys. Uh.” Muscles flare in his jaw as he breathes. “I feel like we should probably—talk about this, we should—figure some shit out, but I.  . .” He looks at you, looks at Cas and pulls him close. “All I know is we shoulda done this a long time ago. And I just—the last few days, I’ve been so damn scared for you two, I could barely see straight.” He pulls in a deep breath, but strokes over your cheek again. “Can we just get up to that room I got, and. . .”

Cas’ hand leaves yours to stroke up Dean’s back, beneath his shirt. “And what, Dean?”

“And get really,  _really_ naked,” Dean says in a rush, looking at you with these big, hopeful eyes. “Kid, that sound like something you’d be into?”

“Hell yes.” You can’t help but laugh, not even knowing which one to lean into, but they both seem to get it, relief and happiness in the way they lean closer, fitting around you. Hours ago you getting thrown back into a filthy prison cell, and now—now you’re here. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s voice scrapes, his mouth parted with heat, with want. “Cas? You in?”

“You know I am.” Cas leans for your bag where you dropped it, and lifts it with ease. His smile is so deliciously suggestive, so  _pleased_. He nods toward the motel. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight change of plans--part three coming October 17! Sorry for the delay!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Cas are free of Naomi and her kidnapping attempt. And after he, you, and Dean finally lay out your long-hidden feelings for each other, well. It’s time to follow up on Dean’s plan to get “really, really naked.”

This is how everything goes right, for freaking once: this motel’s shower has great water pressure.

Well, okay. Back up a sec. If you’re honest, it really went right soon as Cas started kissing you again, which didn’t take long. Dean unlocks the door, ushers you and Cas inside, and drops his bag. Cas sets yours down on a chair, then he’s up in your _space_ , a soft “Let me, can I—” and you breathe “ _Yes”_ as his lips catch on yours and your heartbeat scrambles into overdrive.

Then Dean’s big hands settle on your hips, his body warm as he eases up behind you. You feel the heat of his mouth an instant before it closes gently on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and you _shiver_.

Yeah. Definitely starts going right at that point.

Cas rumbles so deeply you barely hear it. You reach up, tangling your fingers in his hair while you wind your other arm around his waist, pulling him closer against you. He’s got both hands in your hair, thumbs trailing your jaw, angling gently so he can kiss deeper, tonguing at the seam of your lips before you part to let him in. You whimper at the feel of that, the desperation he’s clearly trying to hold back as Dean’s fingers graze higher on your waist. His fingertips tighten on your skin, pulling up your shirt as he worries at your neck with his mouth, the barest drag of teeth. Goosebumps sprawl across your skin, and you can’t help a happy noise into Cas’ mouth, giddy with the feel of them both, as Dean’s fingers land and grip—

The bruise over your ribs electrifies with a bolt of pain, so startling that you gasp, jolting back from Cas in surprise. Dean drops his hands instantly as you sag back against his chest. “Kid—?”

“Shit, sorry.” You cover the space over your ribs with one hand, reaching up behind you for Dean with the other, pulling him around so you can see them both. “Nrrgh. Just tagged my bruise. Forgot all about it.”

“Bruise?” Dean’s concerned as hell.

“Naomi cracked her rib,” says Cas, reaching for your side to cover your hand. “When I broke free of that spellwork, I was able to heal the bone, but not the damage around it.”

You lick your lips. “Yeah. And then I didn’t mind, since you implied your healing can get more fun than just a boop-and-fix.”

Dean actually goes a little pink, but his smile’s coming back. “He told you about that, huh.”

“Nearly got a demonstration,” you mutter. “Yeah, definitely gonna need it.”

Cas smiles, too. “I hoped you’d ask.”

“Sweet. Although.” You glance down at yourself. Bloody sleeves and scraped hands and all the grime of a couple days. Maybe it’s not that bad, since the angels seemed to keep you in a weird sort of preservation, and Dean and Cas don’t seem deterred in the slightest. But _still_. “Holy shit, I want a shower before we follow through on that ‘really, really naked’ plan.”

Dean nods. Deep breath. “Yeah. Wouldn’t mind one myself, after you’re done.” He moves closer so he can press a kiss to your forehead. Jesus, you had no idea (suspicions, yes, endless fantasies, _sure_ ) that he could get this tender. “And I know what I said, but. We don’t have to rush this.”

“Oh, I’m definitely down for rushing this.” You grin up at them both. “Just, y’know. After I rinse away all the imprisonment.”

Cas’ thumbs smooth against your waist, just under the hem of your shirt. “At least let me heal your bruise first.”

It should be stupid. You want to joke about boo-boo smooching, about how you’re not a little kid, fuck’s sake—but he sits on the edge of the bed and opens his knees and tugs you to stand between them. His long fingers ease your shirt up while Dean holds your jacket flap aside, and suddenly you’re panting under the electric scrutiny of it, the way Cas’ eyes just go _dark_ as he gets a close-up view. Even Dean’s losing it, breathing hard at your side, nosing at your hair. One of his big, callused palms slips over your belly to hold you there—as if you’d move. Cas breathes, “I need you to come up here.”

Honestly, it’s gonna be a miracle if you make it to that shower with any clothes left to ditch.

You reach for his shoulders to straddle him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, burying your hands in his hair as he dips his head.

The bruise is an ugly motherfucker, a handspan beneath your bra, purplish gray with dark spots of red in the center. Like a tiny map of a galaxy. “God.” Dean’s impressed and worried both. “Kid, I didn’t know it was that bad.”

You let yourself lean back against his broad chest. “I didn’t, either.”

Cas’ lips are soft against the bruise, and your grip tightens in his hair because it _hurts,_ but it’s a good hurt. Almost as soon as you think _ow_ it fades, the throbbing dull ache replaced with a shimmering coolness and then nothing, the colors melting away under his tongue. Cas looks back up at you and Dean, and gulps. He says in a rasp, “Better?”

You nod. “Yeah, Cas.”

He lets go of your shirt, and reaches for the lapels of your jacket instead. His voice is molten. “Dean.”

“On it.” Dean tugs your jacket flap further, working with Cas until the whole thing’s coming off your shoulders while you try to breathe. Fuck, they’re going to undress you together. Dean’s lips brush the shell of your ear. “Where else?”

“Here.” Cas skims his hands up the backs of your arms, including over your anti-possession tattoo above the back of your left elbow. Coolness flares there, too, and aches you didn’t even notice just melt away. He glances at Dean. “We were chained to a wall for much of the last few days.” He reaches for both of your hands next, and heals the chafe and bruise from the handcuffs. “I should have healed these the moment we left.”

“It’s okay.” You slip your fingertips along the sandpaper-soft span of his jaw, then twist around to see the scabbed cut above Dean’s brow—partially healed, the streak of blood from the rescue now gone. “What about you? You’n Benny were fighting before we showed up.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah, I—I’m all right.”

“You aren’t.” Cas is quiet.

“This is still here.” Still kneeling around Cas’ hips, you reach up to smooth your thumb near Dean’s brow. But Cas slips a hand around your waist, warm on your bare skin, and the scab at your thumb melts away at your touch.

Dean sucks in a breath, swaying closer into you. You wrench back to look at Cas. “Did you just—?”

“If I’m touching you while you touch him. . .” Cas’ smile is hopeful, a bit tremulous. “See for yourself.”

You look down; Dean’s knuckles are red and torn. You curl it up toward yourself, and kiss gently around, trying to go soft, trying not to hurt him—and the redness fades away, sinking back into his hand until there’s nothing but smooth skin left behind. When you look up, Dean’s staring at you, lips full and parted. He says, “My, uh—my shoulder—”

You turn to stand up again, reaching for his ivory henley before you can stop yourself, and he helps, wincing before he gets it off over his head.

Both Cas’ hands hover lightly against your sides as you take in what you uncovered. _Whoa_.

You trace your hands down Dean’s chest, lingering over the tattoo and the barest dusting of freckles. His eyes fall shut and he flinches into your touch when you thumb over his nipples on the way to the solid-soft planes of his abs and the darker hair beneath his navel. But yes, there’s definitely a mottled shadow over his shoulder, yellowish at the edges. With a gulp, you lean in.

He hisses as your mouth touches his bruise, but he grits, “You could—if you want—”

The dark pitch of that request, the way Cas’ fingertips suddenly _grip_. . . you trace your tongue along the edge of the bruise before lightly drawing your teeth over it. Dean _groans_ , swaying into you, his hands coming up to cup your face as the bruise fades away. “Holy shit,” he mutters, keeping you close as you pant against each other. His biceps are big and rounded at this angle, and Jesus, he’s warm. “Holy _shit_.”

Cas is standing behind you now, pressing tight along your body. “You should have your shower before the three of us forget ourselves.”

You close your eyes. Nod into Dean’s hands. “Yeah. That’s—yep. Cool.”

Somehow you tear yourself away.

Which brings you back to the water pressure.

The hot water’s just a couple steps short of stinging as it drums into your tired shoulders, relaxes your overexerted muscles. The clothes you peeled off were a mess between the drying blood and the dirt from that cell. You’ve never been so relieved for soap, for the clean clothes you’re gonna put on. Never been so eager to stand under the spray and just breathe deep and slow, anchoring yourself to here and now.

You made it. You’re alive. The last couple days were the literal worst, but you’re here, and you got away relatively unharmed, and. . . and the guys of your dreams are out there waiting to lavish all _kinds_ of attention on you. On each other, while you help.

Before long, you’re sniffling with the relief of it. The absolute surprise that you get to be here. That you’ve already gotten glimpses of what it’s like to be on the receiving end of the reverence and _need_ Cas and Dean typically reserve for each other.

You sniffle, and try not to giggle too loudly. Somehow, you think, no matter what the next few weeks throw at you, this win is gonna keep you warm for a long time.

* * *

Dean’s alone when you emerge, propped on a corner of the bed. He’s wearing a black tee and jeans, and scrubbing a towel through his damp hair.

Weird. “Where’d you shower?”

“Cas snuck me into the one next door. Got empty rooms on both sides.” He looks up at you, and his smile goes bright. “What, no steamy towel thing going on?”

You drop beside him, close. So thrilled that you can. “Thought about it. Where _is_ Cas?”

“Went to stash the tablet someplace safer than a duffel bag in a warded room. Said he’ll get it in the morning before he takes off. Don’t worry—I made him swear, like, fifty times that he’s coming right back.”

You nod. _Cas,_ you think, _better be back soon_. “Did. Did he tell you what he showed me, while we were in that cell?”

To your surprise, Dean’s jaw bobs for a second. Flustered. “Yeah. Kinda messed up, right?”

The scene floats back: a different motel room, Cas fucking into Dean, the _looks_ on their faces, the way Dean groaned your name as he spasmed in Cas’ grip. Jesus. It’s normal to feel this warm, right? “Messed up? Dude. Did he mention what I was doing, like, four feet away on the other side of the wall?”

“Yeah.” It’s a little strangled. “You’re seriously not weirded out by us—talking about you like that, while we—?”

“Dean, I was literally getting off to the thought of it. Let’s be honest, that part’s probably more weird.”

“Definitely,” he says, and snorts when you elbow him. There’s pleased crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

You swallow a gust of _want_. “Dean, what I saw—does Cas usually. . .” you instantly clam up; your mouth got ahead of your brain on that one. _Rude_.

But he doesn’t seem bothered. On the contrary, he has to take a shuddery breath. “We switch it up. Kinda depends on how much time we got.”

Curiosity cools some of the burning in your face. “Time?”

“Yeah, I mean, you know.” He sucks on his bottom lip. Can’t meet your eyes. “With me, it takes some—patience, to get me there. But Cas, you can’t hurt that guy. You barely gotta warm him up before you just. . .” He gives you this little noise: _ungh_. “The other night, when we all met up—that stuff he showed you—definitely had time.”

You reach for his hand. “What are we gonna do here?”

His fingers tighten in yours. “We were gonna leave that up to you. I—kid, you gotta know how much we friggin’ want you. We can move slow or fast as you want. All three of us, two at a time, one at a—however you want it, okay.” He’s looking at you like he’s gonna lose it if he can’t give you everything. Heat uncoils in your gut, curls your toes. Throbs between your legs.

Somehow you make yourself nod. “Yeah. I—fuck, Dean.” You lean into him and he meets you halfway, your foreheads bumping as you stare at your intertwined hands. You close your eyes. Just one more thing you need to bring up. “Did Cas also mention how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”

“He said we were distracting you.” There’s a smile in it, which startles you into looking up at him. Jesus, his eyes are green. “Said you stepped on that sigil ‘cause you were watching us.”

Your heart thuds hard. Your eyes prickle. “Yeah. I. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He _is_ smiling now. Soft and sweet. “Look where it got us.”

“That _can’t_ be it—”

“It is.” He reaches with his other hand to cup your cheek. “Listen. You and Cas—you just went through the mill. Last thing you need right now is guilt about crap you can’t change. What matters is we’re here now, and you two are okay. That’s it. That’s what I care about.”

The air _fwump_ s with wingbeats, and Cas is standing in front of the dresser wearing a smile that makes your knees go wobbly. “Exactly what I said,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” says Dean. “You get that thing squared away?”

“Yes.” Cas sighs, relaxing with each step closer. “The tablet should be safe until morning.” He meets your eyes, sincere concern in his endless blue ones. “Feeling better?”

God, you do. “So much.” Cas reaches to run a hand up into your hair, drying the damp ends the rest of the way. You lean into his touch.

Dean’s thumb strokes over your knuckles. “Are we all here? No more errands, no more side trips?”

“Yes, Dean.” You can hear the smirk in Cas’ smile as your heart starts thumping hard again.

“Well, then.” Dean looks at you, licks his lips, and scoots back so he’s sitting further up on the bed. “C’mere, kid.”

Here goes nothing.

You shift your knee over his hips, fitting the pulsing center of yourself directly over the hard bulge in his jeans, denim on denim, and _oh_ , the contact sparks into your veins, yanks the air from your lungs. Dean groans and bucks up, flattening one palm against your lower back to drag your hips closer, settled more snuggly over the thick press of him. He seals his parted lips to yours, and kisses you.

As Dean’s tongue traces the bow of your upper lip, you reach back for Cas and come up with a handful of coat. When you tug the fabric, he eases up to your right side to get a knee on the bed. You break from Dean and you both reach over, smoothing your hands up the white of Cas’ shirt, over his shoulders, slipping both coats off. Directly to the floor. Dean tugs Cas’ shirt out of his pants, and Cas starts loosening his tie. _Guh_ , those long fingers, working the knot loose— “Holy crap,” you mutter.

Dean grins against your temple. “See, Cas. Not just me.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “Does it also work if I. . .” He turns his collar up a little lopsided, and he must have mojo’d his sleeve buttons open, because suddenly he’s the picture of dishevelment, working the tie off slowly. Never breaking eye contact with you.

“ _Cas_.” You’re breathless as Dean tugs Cas even closer by the tails of his shirt. “Yeah, still works.”

As you pull at the hem of Dean’s tee, the room’s quiet. There’s the occasional whisper of traffic passing, the low tone of the A/C unit, but other than that, it’s all soft little pants and gasps. The slick sound of open kisses, clothes sliding against clothes. The dark pitch of the half-groan, half-sighs Cas breathes so close to you. The quiet punch of Dean’s breathless “ _ah_ ”s and “ _hnnh_ ”s and “Cas—kid, yeah, like that.” The faint, otherworldly rustle of Cas’ wings, the occasional rush of warmth as they get close (you think), or surround you, or shift. All together, it’s intoxicating. You’ve barely done more than make out and touch, and you’re already so slick for them you can feel it, so fucking turned on.

When Dean’s shirt is gone, you take a moment to touch his tattoo again—never enough of that, you’re going to get your mouth on it before long—then you reach for Cas.

He’s golden beneath his open shirt, absolutely tan and smooth. Not as broad as Dean, but more wiry. You’ve already seen this view once, but it was covered in blood, tremulous and heaving as he hung in those manacles in Naomi’s office. _Wanted to get you down from there so much_ , you think at him, showing him the image in your mind. _God, Cas, I would’ve taken out everyone in that room if I had the chance._ He shudders as your fingertips meet his skin, and he pulls his shirt down from his shoulders.

You reach for the hem of your own tee; nothing like a little self-sufficiency. As you emerge from the tangle of it, Dean groans through his teeth, eyes raking over you, up and down. “Cas,” he says, reaching to get a hand around the back of Cas’ neck. “Man, you know I’m crazy about you, but. . .” His knuckles drift down your throat; he turns his fingers and runs them gently, lightly down the slope of one breast toward your bra. “But god, I missed boobs.”

Your laugh makes him beam. Cas manages a smile too, but breathes, “I see what you mean.”

With that kind of encouragement, well. Heart _hammering_ , you reach behind yourself and flick the clasp.

As it comes off your shoulders, Dean says faintly, “Jesus Christ, kid.” Cas’ gaze flicks up at you, wide and lust-dark. You reach for his hand, meaning to pull it to you, but then Dean’s running one callused palm lightly over your nipple and you _squeak_. It turns into a moan as he brings more pressure into it, uses his fingers, kneading gently, and you barely have the wherewithal to bring Cas’ hand up, too, warm where it cups the curve of you, one thumb tracing in circles. Your left hand scrabbles into the softness of Dean’s hair, your right over Cas’ hand, and you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost to it, whimpering as Dean grinds his hips up into you, barely-there rolls that are driving you _berserk_.

Then Cas is breathing warm over you, and the wet heat of his mouth envelops the peak of your breast with a slow curl of his tongue. You jolt under the touch, helpless to stop a moan. Dean swears softly, and somehow you meet his eyes as he just _watches_ , his hand still at work on your other breast.

Cas only lets up to kiss his way back toward your neck. “Fuck,” you pant. Your hands are shaking in Dean’s hair, over Cas’ hand. “You two— _nngh._ ”

Cas looks up, all concern. “We can slow down.”

Oh, hell no. _Hell no_ , you think at him. “I’m good. Just—can we—pants?”

Cas’ hands working as he unbuckles his own belt, tendons shifting—it’s pure pornography. You stand long enough to start tearing at your own jeans, and Dean’s already got his open around the straining jut of his cock through his trim black boxer-briefs.

You kick your jeans off ( _so_ happy you still had one pair of subtly lacy black undies in your duffel), then get back up there.

All at once Cas is pinning you beneath him. Bare skin to bare skin, your knees opening automatically to let his hips between them, and his own cock is so much easier to feel thanks to the thinner, softer material of his boxers. You actually let out an “ _Aah_!” as he settles against you with a slow, filthy grind, mattress dipping around your shoulders where he props his hands. _Fuck yes_ , you think as his lips finds yours again, opening your mouth beneath his so he can just take and take and _take_ , _Cas, this is so_ — _need you guys, need both of you, want both of you inside me, want to feel you and Dean opening me up for you_ —

He groans and eases back just as Dean comes up beside you both, stripped down to his black boxer-briefs and confused at the way Cas gapes down at you. Cas says, strangled, “Really?”

You struggle up to your elbows. You’d thought it without even really _thinking_ , but you realize: it’s absolutely, completely true. After wanting this for so long, never able to get close enough, you need it so _much_. You close your eyes briefly, grinning. “Sorry, Dean—easier to think at this guy when he’s tonsil-deep.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He’s still concerned.

You reach up to Cas’ face, stroking gently down the lightly-stubbled side of his jaw. “Yeah, really. You should tell him.” Shit, your face is warm. “Not sure I can say it out loud.”

Cas’ tongue darts over his lips; he swallows. “Dean, she. . .” He looks at Dean, and it makes your heart thump to see so much naked desire, that they _let_ you. “. . . said she wants to take both of us at once.”

Dean looks at you, lips parting in delighted surprise. “Yeah?”

Cas slips one hand beneath you, his palm sliding over the curve of your ass, where he flexes his fingers. _Fuck_. “Have you ever. . .?”

“Nope.” You smile when Cas tilts his forehead to yours. “Figure it may not work out. If it doesn’t, we can just one-on-one it. Easier.”

Dean’s propped on one elbow, one hand in Cas’ hair as he looks at you in wonder. “Are you sure? Because—I mean. It takes some getting used to. Believe me, I am _more_ than willing to be patient, but.”

“Super sure.” You look up at Cas, the close, concerned blue of his eyes. “Between Dean’s patience and your mojo, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

He kisses you, brief but soft. “Then we are, too.”

There’s still plenty to do before then.

Cas drags your damp panties over your hips and down your thighs while Dean shifts, grinning. “Sit up for a sec?” he says, and you do, heart hammering. You’re totally nude between them, both still in their undershorts. Dean moves in behind you, sitting up against the headboard, pulling your hips back so you’re tucked in the vee of his legs. Cas pauses, sitting back on his haunches, stroking your thighs to keep them open, _ungh_. Dean’s warmth settles along your back and he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling at your neck. “Needed front row seats for this.” He slides his hands up your thighs to your knees, gripping underneath them.

He tugs just a little. Fuck, his hands are big. Cas watches you both, chest punching out and back. Dean murmurs, “I wanna keep these spread wide open so Cas can taste you. That okay?”

_Oh._ Yes it fucking is. You turn your face toward Dean’s neck, damn near writhing in his arms at the arousal that crawls from your belly to your cunt. Utterly unable to bear the hungry way Cas looks at you, at the space between your parted thighs. Somehow you nod.

“Kid.” Dean’s thumbs make circles at the sides of your knee. Calluses on his right thumb shoot goosebumps all along your skin. “M’not gonna do it until you’re watching Cas when I open you up.”

“Jesus _Christ_.” You reach up, getting a fistful of Dean’s short, smooth hair in your hand. “Y-yeah. Okay.” Somehow you look up, your other hand propped on Dean’s thigh to adjust yourself. You make yourself meet Cas’ eyes as he gets back to his knees, as he settles closer, _closer_.  

Dean’s hands tighten on your knees then pull them apart; Cas groans like it’s punched out of him, eyes flickering up and back. It’s written all over his face, how fucking hot he thinks this is, how beautiful he thinks you are, and even Dean breathes in your ear, “Holy shit.”

You want to say something, but Cas eases forward and suddenly his lips are moving in long, slow drags along your inner thighs. The delicious scrape of his stubble follows, and he sucks a kiss _just_ outside where you need him to dive in.

When he pulls you further open with his thumbs, you shiver in Dean’s hands. His cock’s straining full and hard against the small of your back through his boxer-briefs. Cas looks up at you. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like.”

“Doubt—” you start, and then run out of words, because his tongue flattens against you. He starts low, drawing upward in a slow, wet, _heated_ drag that has your hips arching off the bed, fighting Dean’s hold on you. “Oh, fuck yes,” you gasp, reaching down to bury your other hand in Cas’ hair and _grip_ , “Cas—” He goes back, dipping low and dragging up again, pausing to pulse his tongue against your clit, ease it in slow circles, around and over, around and over, and two of his lithe fingers are suddenly stroking gentle and shallow at your soaked entrance. “Cas, _please_.”

Dean releases one knee, sliding his hand overtop of it when it lands. “Keep that there,” he instructs, then moves that hand across your belly and down. He slips two fingers across your clit, drawing light circles just as Cas pushes his own fingers inside your cunt. You buck up against that dark flood of arousal, barely recognizing your own voice in your moan as Dean’s palm keeps you down, right hand still gripping hard around your knee. He’s panting, too, clearly getting more turned on by the second, and holy god, it’s hot. “Cas,” he says through his teeth, “tell me what it’s like.”

“So _wet_.” Cas groans it against you. He pauses briefly in working his tongue to draw Dean’s fingers into his mouth; Dean hisses against your ear, his body wracking with a shudder you’re close enough to feel. “So soft,” Cas says as Dean goes back to work on your clit. “You should be down here for this.”

Oh, _that_ thought—it makes Cas’ fingers catch on a good angle deep inside you as he flexes them, spreading wide and keeping them wide on the way out, narrowing them as they slip back in. You want to let go, want to lose yourself to it, but it feels way too soon.

“Feel you holdin’ back,” Dean murmurs at your ear. “Let go if you want.”

“Please,” Cas adds, lifting his mouth from you without pausing his fingers, and _fuck_ , his lips shine with evidence of your arousal, wet down to his chin. “First of the night doesn’t mean only.” He adds a twisting motion to his wrist that makes you jolt, makes you whimper. “Please, let me feel you. Wanted this for so long, want to feel you like this—”

Castiel, angel of the lord, begging you to come for him. No fucking wonder the riot of heat and pleasure throbbing in your cunt burst into your orgasm. Dean’s fingers keep working as you arch up off him. He’s groaning in your ear: “Fuck yes, fucking _gorgeous_ ,” and Cas has incinerated, his eyes still on yours, fingers thrusting even as you ride them out, flexing and pulling against the tender insides and sensitive outsides of your cunt.

Then it’s entirely to much; you reach for his wrist, going to pull him out and pull him up. You’re shaking all over as you shift, cunt throbbing hard as you ride out the comedown. Somehow you settle half on Dean and half off, Cas on Dean’s other side, and Dean’s arms twine around both of you. You and Cas stare at one another in wonder across the span of Dean’s chest. _Holy shit_ , you think at him. _Holy shit_ , _that was. . ._ Your face is on fire again. “Wanted me for so long, huh?”

Cas and Dean look at each other. It’s _shy_. “It _has_ been a long time,” Cas says. He strokes over Dean’s cheek with his thumb. “Dean should tell you how we first got together.”

Dean squints in delighted puzzlement. “Why me?”

Cas’ eyes flash. It’s downright _mischievous_. “Because my mouth is about to be too full.”

Dean’s head tips back. “ _Oh_.”

Cas inches light kisses down Dean’s chest, pausing long enough to look up at you, pleased. “You’re going to help, if that’s all right.”

“Jesus, yes.” You duck up to kiss Dean, who shelves his bewilderment long enough to kiss you back, sweet and thorough before you ease down the length of his body to join Cas. You’re still slick between your legs, inner thighs shining, and you catch Dean licking his lips as the sight.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, getting his hands in the waistband of Dean’s boxer-briefs. “Tell her.”

Watching Cas suck Dean off this close brings your satisfied cunt back to achingly empty faster than you thought possible. You help as much as you can, stroking Dean’s thighs, kissing down the smooth, soft-tautness of his belly as Cas kisses the head of his cock, eases his lips over it, and Dean does his damnedest to speak. “It was—Purgatory. We were, Benny was off doing something and—oh,  _fuck_ —” You’ve slipped a hand beneath Cas’ jaw to palm carefully at Dean’s balls, which apparently was a damn bright idea. “—Cas mentioned he could—hear you, sometimes.”

That makes you freeze, looking up at both of them. Dean’s hand slips into your hair, tense and gentle all at once. “Hear me,” you repeat, heartbeat cranking back up. “My prayers, you mean?”

Cas eases his mouth down the entirety of Dean’s straining cock, and Dean damn near jackknifes into sitting upright. Your insides ignite; they’re letting you see this, they’ve _wanted_ you to. “ _Yes_.” Dean’s frantic green eyes search yours, so open in their want as he watches you. “He said—said you missed us, and I— _nnnh_.” His other hand goes to Cas’ hair. He shudders beneath you both, closing his eyes. “Cas, I can’t.”

Cas pulls off of him, smiles and tugs your hand closer. You tentatively curl your fingers around the base of Dean’s cock, and his hips just barely arch off the sheets. Christ, it makes you shiver; you can’t imagine that soon he’ll be fucking into you. “Tell her,” Cas murmurs again.

Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. You want to get to work, but this feels important. You settle on shallow strokes, smooth and just enough pressure that he rolls his hips into your hand. Somehow he groans, “I—we missed you so much, and Cas was lookin’ at me like he does, and I just. . . suddenly he was just—everywhere—he shoved me into a tree and—halfway into that kiss I already had his dick in my hand and we—”

“He brought us off together,” Cas murmurs against your ear, so low you can hear the scrape of it. “Because of a conversation that started with _you_.”

You’ve stilled your hand, fragile with the weight of this confession. Dean can’t take his eyes off you.

Cas kisses beneath your earlobe. “You’ve been there since the start, even if you weren’t with us.”

“We didn’t actively start—talking about you ’til after he got out,” Dean says. “I mean, it still goes back earlier than that. But coupla cases later, you were there and it all just sorta. . .”

Whatever lingering doubts you had about whether you belong in this bed with them—you can’t find them anymore. You gulp. “Cas.”

“Yes.” He smooths hair off your shoulder, nibbling there now.

“Scoot over a bit.”

Dean groans your name when you take his cock in your mouth and slide down as far as you can, tonguing the hot length of it, taking it as his hips buck up helplessly. “Fuck,” he breathes; when you peek he’s thrown his other arm over his eyes, leaning back against the pillows and headboard as he gasps. “God, yes, like th— _at_ , you’re killin’ me—”

Cas takes over what you were just doing, cupping Dean’s balls where they’re tightening, slipping his fingers deeper back between Dean’s legs. Enough that Dean jolts into your mouth and you have to pull back on a sudden almost-choke, trying not to laugh at the hilarious _oh no_ expression that crosses Dean’s face as he lifts his arm _._ “I’m okay,” you manage, clearing your throat. You haven’t stopped moving your hand, and Dean’s hips still roll into it. “Stay _still_ , Dean.”

He makes a strangled little sound. “I—kid, Cas, you guys better lay off. If I only got one in me tonight, I’m makin’ it count. Besides.” He pulls you up to him, easing his thigh between your legs. He’s still grinning right before he kisses you. Both his hands slide down your back, sliding firm over the curve of your ass before he _grips_ with both hands. “We still got some work to do for you.”

You shudder all over, arousal racing hot along your nerves. “Yeah,” you agree. “Let’s, we should do that.”

The three of you shift about. Dean goes to riffle through his duffel bag. Cas sits you up, facing him, straddling his thighs so your rear hangs off of them. Plenty of access for where he’ll need to be. Your heart _pounds_ as you circle your arms around his neck. You’re nervous, feeling so open and exposed, but there’s a hot-as-fuck angel between your knees who wants you so bad that his eyes glitter desperate-dark. “We’ll go slow,” he promises. “But we can stop any time you want.”

_You guys are so freakin’ fantastic,_ you think, your face burning up. “I’m good. Let’s do it.”

“Dean?” Cas holds out a hand.

“Mmph. Yeah.” Dean gets back up onto the bed, mattress sinking under his knees as he sidles up beside you both. He slaps a little bottle into Cas’ hand, and winks at you.

Cas goes slow as he promised. Strokes on the outside with his index and middle fingers, slick and smooth, getting you used to it, his other hand tight around the small of your back. Dean stays close the whole time, keeping a hand on you, smoothing up your shoulders, up the nape of your neck and into your hair. “Talk to us, kiddo.”

“It’s—yeah, strange.” Your head’s bowed against Cas’, eyes closed.

“Relax,” Cas whispers. “You’re wound up so tightly. We’ve got you.”

You try to do as he says, and it just makes it feel even more obscene, more ridiculous, but you can’t deny that something about it is incredibly hot. You shudder against his touch as he murmurs, “Good, that’s better.”

“Doing better than I did,” Dean mutters somewhere near your ear. Kissing along your shoulder. Sliding his other hand slow down your belly. “Took me forever even with your mojo, Cas.”

“You also had a few more reservations about it,” Cas teases gently, and you grin into his hair. He flattens his palm against your back, noses along your jaw. Murmurs, “I’m going to try just one. Tell me if this is all right.”

When he brings his grace into it (and here you briefly wonder what kind of conniption Naomi would have if she knew how Cas was using his mojo), everything gets easier. Everything feels _good_. Nothing and everything like you expected. Before long you’re actually rocking down onto his fingers ( _plural_ , when the fuck—) as Dean circles your clit with his fingertips, and pressed together like that, you and Cas, Dean at your side—god, you want more. “Damn it,” you manage somehow, warm all over, whole body roiling with want and heat, “you guys, I need you, I need you both, can we. . .”

Cas withdraws his fingers gently, nuzzles at your nose. “Yes. _Yes_. Dean?”

“God, yes,” Dean says. “Let’s do this.”

You pause with a hand on Cas’ wrist, wondering if you should be squicked. “Shouldn’t we—”

He shows you his slender fingers. Dry like they weren’t just lube-slick, like you weren’t just rocking back onto them. His smile is teasing. “My grace has it covered.”

You glance at Dean in disbelief. He just grins. “The guy thinks of everything. While we’re going at it, too. You get used to it.”

It’s dark outside by now, the curtains closed. The weak lamp on the nightstand glows just enough to see what you’re doing as the three of you slip into the sheets, warm bodies easing across one another, getting closer. Shuffling with the box of condoms, tearing open packets. You’re laying on your right side, Cas in front of you, Dean behind you, the rigid length of him pressing up the small of your back as he and Cas get settled. That’s what you decided: Dean takes you from behind, Cas takes you from the front. To start, anyway. Your heart’s beating so hard you can feel it in your ears, adrenaline coursing steady through your veins. They’re both panting; Dean’s practically twitchy with nerves.  

“Dean first,” Cas murmurs against your mouth. “Then me. Then we’ll see if you can handle any movement.”

Dean goes _slow_. Slow as hell. His mouth on your shoulder, his right arm under your neck, his fingers tangled with Cas’. His left hand guiding himself into you. Cas has a hand on your knee, holding you open. “That’s it,” he breathes into you. “Relax. Let him take care of it.”

You’re dragging in air, dizzy, letting Dean in inch by strange inch, propping yourself up, hands in fists. “Fuck.” Dean scrapes his teeth over the curve of your shoulder, barely breathing. He drops his forehead there. “ _Fuck_ _yes_. Kid, you’re— _aah_.” He’s seated enough inside you that his left hand comes up, slips across your hip, eases between your legs to start in on slow circles around your clit, and _that_ —

Incoherent doesn’t begin to describe the dazzling waves of pleasure, the way Dean’s attention on your clit eases the rest of his way in until suddenly his hips are warm against your ass, bizarre and strange and _new_ , and you gasp his name. Even though your eyes are wide open, locked on Cas’.

“Oh, god.” Dean’s pulling you close against him. Big spoon. Fucking _hell_ , he’s shaking, too. “ _Kid_.”

Cas still has your knee open, and he’s breathing in deep and ragged. Eyes darting between your legs and back up at you. Waiting for you to ask.

Your forehead bumps his. “Cas, c’mere.”

Cas licks his lips; you whimper as Dean’s fingers find a good rhythm. “Yeah, Cas,” he says, and groans. You feel him flex within you, which makes you arch forward. “C’mon, we need you.”

You’ve figured out by now it’s gonna be way too much to keep this up, but you don’t care, you want to get Cas in on this for at least a moment. _Need_ to be surrounded by them both, need them so desperately—a thought you send to Cas at the last second, and his little “ _Hnngh_ ” means he heard you loud and clear.

It’s warm all over, Dean’s chest up against your back, the smooth heat of Cas’ hips nudging yours, his cock against your belly before he directs himself lower, catching himself against the pull of Dean’s fingers on you. You know Cas slips in with some semblance of ease because of his grace, and then suddenly _his_ hips are warm where they meet your slick cunt, and you let out a relieved whimper against Cas’ mouth.

It is _incredible_.

It’s also incredibly too much. No way Dean’s gonna be able to fire off any thrusts, or Cas, without it being too strange to be good. But while you’re here. . . You’re gasping deep, tentatively clenching the stretch of your walls around them, and they both let out breathless little sounds. You’re so _close_ to them, tucked so tenderly between them.

“You okay?” Dean’s breathing shakes on every exhale, but he still asks it, a hot slur against the back of your neck.

“Just—god _._ ” You shudder again. Cas is watching you, watching your eyes for any sign to pull away, for any sign he needs to use more grace. “You _guys_. You feel so fucking, _fucking_ good—I mean—hurts— _s’weird—_ but you’re both. . . You’re both here. I never. . .” You hide your face in Cas’ neck, breathing into the hollow of his throat, unable to stop the whimper as they shift. “God, needed you both so much.”

“Yeah, we’re here.” Dean’s spare hand moves from your cunt to your hip, warm and slow as he traces heavily over it. His hand lands in Cas’ hair, clenches. “Finally. We’re right here.”

Cas noses so lightly over your cheeks, over your eyelids. “Tell us what you want.”

You gotta work yourself up to saying it. Your left hand’s palming the perfect curve of Dean’s ass, your right beneath Cas’ cheek. You thumb over his stubble when you whisper, “Cas, you stay where you are. Dean—better pull out. I want Cas to fuck me, then—then you, Dean. Same thing.”

You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of how vocal Dean is, with his quiet little groans and strangled sounds. He gives you one now, kissing gently at your cheek. “Comin’ right up.”

Dean slips out careful and slow with a breathless, hitching noise, leaving Cas still in place, throbbing and buried in your cunt. “Okay,” Dean pants, and rolls to his back; you hear him slipping the condom off. “Guh. I’m out. All you two.”

Cas keeps you right where you are. His right hand tight in the bend of your left knee over his hip, your toes trailing in the sheets behind him, his left arm beneath your neck. His eyes still so disbelieving, locked on yours.

Between all that shifting, the twitching, the involuntary spasms around his cock—its first drag out and then push back in makes you seize up closer to him, surprised at the rippling, consuming, _deep_ pleasure. “Holy shit,” you manage somehow. “Cas, fuck—you could go harder, if you— _ah!_ ” He listens, starting to move in shallow thrusts.

Dean’s groan is harsh by your ear, his hand smoothing around your waist, cupping one breast in his splayed fingers and going to work. He drops his mouth to your neck, pulling his lips over the sensitive skin there.

Cas is looking at you so wide-eyed, panting and disheveled, stroking up the back of your knee toward your rear. Muscles contract in his belly as he moves steadily and increasingly deeper, all the shadowed suggestion of muscle on display in the low light. He looked just like this in that scene he showed you from the other night, desperation tinged with wonder, determination in every deliberate lurch of his hips. “Hnnh—” he gasps, presses his forehead against yours. He breaks his rhythm to draw back _slow,_ almost all the way out. Then thrust hard. “—too close—” Thrust. “—I can’t—” _Thrust._ He pauses there, panting.

You get your hand in his sweat-damp hair. “Cas, _please_ , wanna feel you come. Please show me what it’s like.”

“Kid.” Dean’s fingers pinch and roll, sending bolts of heat directly to your cunt, making you spasm around Cas. “You got any idea how much he loves getting begged like that?”

Jesus. You do now. You lean closer, getting your mouth up against Cas’. On a kiss you murmur, “Cas. _Need you_.”

His eyes blaze against yours in question. _Please_ , you add, silently.

That must be what he needed to hear, because he instantly pushes your ass flat to the bed, scrambling over you. You have time to glimpse Dean’s surprised face before Cas palms the back of your neck, pulls your mouth up to his, and _fucks_ into you. A pace so brutal it’s gotta be mojo, absolutely obscene sounds filling the room, slick noises that you want to be self conscious about but that set Dean groaning, fisting the base of his cock to keep from coming right there, staring at you and Cas with his jaw open and his wide, dark eyes on the points where you connect, on your faces. “Dean,” Cas gasps, bowing his head against yours, “Dean, come here.”

Dean makes a strangled sound and rolls closer, slotting his body along the side of yours, apparently trying hard not to grind his cock into your hip but unable to resist. He gets up on an elbow so he can growl in Cas’ ear, watching you with just as much want. “That’s it, Cas, look at her so fuckin’ open for you, needing you—how many times’ve we wanted this, huh—”

Cas lets out a surprised sound, wraps his voice around your name, his hips stuttering. It was building inside you, the electric warm promise of your orgasm, but he’s gonna hit his first, and that’s fine. You’ve still got Dean to go. “C’mon, Cas, please.” Your arms are around his neck; you bury your fingers in his hair. “ _Castiel_.”

“ _Oh_.” His brows furrow helplessly as his next thrust stays _deep,_ grinding forward enough that your hips near lift of the bed. He draws back slow only to slam forward again, then again, his legs shaking between yours as he rides it out. Dean’s back to fisting the base of his cock, breathing hard as he watches Cas slump over you.

You’re both panting hard, buzzing with adrenaline, sweat-misted and trembly, each gasping with every stroke of skin where you connect. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” Dean murmurs, kissing along your shoulder. Along Cas’. “Dude loses it when you go for the full name.”

“It’s no wonder.” Cas kisses you, achingly tender compared to the brutal pace he’d just set. His blue, blue eyes search yours as he pulls back. “You say it like it’s. . . like it’s a caress. Others, not so much.” You think of Naomi, then, the cold way she always used the full thing, and you cling tight to Cas just a moment more.

He slowly, carefully pulls out of you, rolling onto his back for a minute to catch his breath. The rustle of wings fills your ears again; you’re gonna have to ask about that at some point. _Cas,_ you think, still panting at the ceiling. Dean’s reaching for the box of condoms. _Think you could mojo me back to less. . ._ You think of your shaking, of the sweat on you and the sheets, of the exhaustion you’re beginning to feel creeping into your limbs . . . _less this?_

His fingers thread with yours at your side, and instantly you feel your muscles relax and settle; the sweat fades, the shaking stops. You feel _good_. You feel like you did at the start of all this, thrilled and full of energy. You get up to an elbow so you can lean over and kiss him. _Thank you_.

Then you turn to Dean.

Who’s shifting a new condom packet between his fingers like he’s doing a coin trick. The smug bastard. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you agree. You lick your lips; his smolder is going to ruin you. “Don’t move.”

He’s sitting up, cock standing thick and rigid between his legs. Good grief, what a sight. You get your hands on his shoulders and shift, throwing a knee over his hips and easing back to sit on his thighs. He’s watching you, his green eyes so _wide,_ so wanting, his hands coming up to settle on your waist. Every trace of bravado falling away as the reality of it hits him. “You—you want me like this?”

“If that’s okay.” You slip your fingers up into his short hair.

“Yeah.” He gets a hand in your hair, too, and pulls your foreheads together. “Yeah, _please_ , this is— _yes_.”

You help him roll the condom down the length of his gorgeous, leaking cock, and you shiver as you get back up to your knees, hovering over him. His hands keep tracing across your back, rough-soft with calluses. The hard planes of his thighs are warm between your calves, and combined with the hot, slick press of his cock up against your entrance as you dip to kiss him—god. This is every one of your fantasies coming true. It’s so much _more_ , the wrecked, needy way he’s looking at you. “C’mon,” he whispers against your lips. “M’ready for you.”

Once again you’re spread wide open as you lower your hips, his cock slipping inside you just as easy as Cas predicted for him the other night. A noise punches out of Dean, harsh and short and deep, eyes screwing shut as your hips meet and he twitches inside you. “Oh, fuck,” he grinds out. He presses his face to your neck, panting there while you cling to his shoulders, adjusting to him, gasping into his hair. “Fuck, kid, _god_ , you feel good.”

Cas has made it up to his knees, and shifts so that he brackets Dean from behind. Kind of like you were with Dean, earlier. Cas gets his hands on Dean’s waist, starts mouthing along Dean’s shoulder, his blue eyes on you the whole time. “Dean,” he murmurs, “you can lie back.”

You nod as he leans into Cas’ arms, tilted back at an angle instead of sitting upright. It gives you more room to move, and you _do_ , shifting so you can ease up off of him just enough, then sink back down. Molten arousal washes through your cunt at the deep press of his cock at this angle, feeling every single inch of him. You do it again, barely swiveling your hips, and Dean moans, closing his eyes. He reaches behind him to get a handful of Cas’ hair, and settles his other hand over the curve of your hip, big and warm. Locked tight.

You get a rhythm going, even get to a point where Dean can thrust up as you come back down, pulling out as you rise. Everything is slick heat, shimmering want, the needy clench of his jaw and green-gold desperation burning in his gaze, sweat making everything tacky. Cas keeps his hands moving, his thumbs tracing Dean’s nipples, his fingers in your hair, palming down the space between your breasts. You keep going, focusing on the steadily-building heat in your belly, in your cunt, working your way toward coming with as much patience as you can manage. You had your hands propped on Dean’s chest, but god, both of them looking at you like that—it makes you feel sexy as hell, makes you feel _powerful._ You reach up to find Cas’ fingers in your hair, and you slip your other hand between your folds, seeking your clit while Dean’s brows arch and he groans at the sight.

“Fucking Christ,” he near whimpers, “kid, you—” He lurches up off Cas a bit, braces himself with one hand on the mattress, the other skirting up your side. At the crest of one of your thrusts, he tightens his fingers. “Hold on,” he says, and drags his cock almost all the way out of you, ass pressing into the mattress before he rocks himself _hard_ back up, heat and deliciously deep pressure sinking into you. He does it again, drawing out, snapping back up, then again, and again, using his leverage on the bed to rock up into you, using the bedsprings to carry him into his thrusts.

Holy _shit_ , it’s hot; every muscle in your line of sight is flexing, moving, straining, his arm corded and juddering where he holds himself up, his eyes never leaving yours as you try like hell to keep yourself up and steady. It’s faster, it’s harder, and you can’t help but clench around his cock, his eyes rolling back when he feels it. “That’s it,” he growls, breathless, “c’mon, lemme take care of you, wanna feel you come apart all over me—”

That much want in his voice, Cas breathing ragged in his ear, the desperate angle in Dean’s brows as your gasps start to go high-pitched—you’re toast. His cock catches an angle that feels so fucking, _fucking_ good, pleasure suddenly arcing through your cunt with every press back in and out, and you manage, “ _Dean_ ,” just as he curls a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you down to him.

You brace yourself over him, one hand on Cas’ knee and the other fisted in the sheets as Dean snaps his hips up even harder, the slick _smack_ of it so fucking noisy, so deliciously filthy as you come around him, shuddering, rocking back to meet him. He groans against your mouth as his rhythm stutters and then he’s just pressing _hard_ up into you, both hands seizing on your hips to drag you down on him so deep it practically _hurts_ , your cunt spasming helplessly as he buries a shout in your neck. His arms band tight against your back, pulling you down against him completely in a rush of heat and sweat. You’re gasping into each other, shuddering. “Mmm _fuck_ ,” he mutters, winded, hands now roaming over your back, dipping so he can get two handfuls of your ass and squeeze gently as he twitches his hips.

Jesus. Literally hours ago you were convinced Naomi was about to off you for good. Now you’re _here_. Tracing sweat-damp fingertips over every inch of Dean and Cas you can reach.

You hide your smile against Dean’s neck, kissing there, trying not to laugh. When did you get this damn lucky?

Cas slips a hand through your hair, drawing it back and away from your face. There’s this look in his eyes, this gorgeous, open adoration that makes you go even warmer.

“Here,” Dean pants in your ear, “I’m gonna—”

You get weight back on your knees, shifting so he can haltingly pull out of you. He sighs, reaching up for your face again, cradling it as he pulls you down to the plush curve of his mouth. “So fuckin’ good,” he says against you, lazy and slurred. Fading fast, and god damn it, it’s adorable. “Damn, kid.” He kisses you again, and you can’t stop smiling. “We do okay?”

“ _You_ —oh my god, yes. Yes, you freaking did.” You roll off him, letting the air cool all the sweat-misted points between you. Briefly, you cover your face with your hands, grinning into the dark space there before you look over at them again. Sweaty and sleepy. _This really happened_. “Did I?”

Cas touches your face again. “I’m fairly certain this exceeded both our expectations. By a long shot.”

Dean nods. There’s color in his cheeks beyond the physical exertion, and it makes you feel all wibbly. “Yeah. What he said.”

“Didn’t think I was gonna be any good, huh,” you tease, gently swatting Dean’s arm.

Dean catches your hand, brings it to his mouth. “Didn’t think we were gonna get the chance to find out.”

There’s nothing you can do for that but kiss them again.

Somehow the three of you fit in the motel shower. You and Dean are covered with enough sweat and goodness-knows-what that skipping one would leave you sticky and miserable, and Cas just joins on principle. It’s quiet, lots of content sighs and sleepy smiles as you go about it, letting wet skin glide over wet skin, letting Dean suckle marks into your neck while Cas palms over his hips, slips his lithe fingers over Dean’s chest, over the inky black lines of his tattoo and yours.

Cas doesn’t need sleep, but he crawls into bed with you and Dean anyway. When he ends up in the middle, spooning you as Dean spoons around him, you tilt back to kiss him one more time. Sending a sleepy prayer his way. _Cas, this is exactly what I wanted earlier. Tucking you between us and shutting the rest of the world out to keep you safe._

Behind him, Dean’s breathing is already light and steady, sound asleep. Cas nuzzles your nose with his. “I remember. I heard you, eventually.” He closes his eyes, then cards one hand up into your hair. “Tell me again.”

Your heart skips, and you roll to face him better, snuggling up close. Legs and arms tangling, like drawing him deeper into your embrace can save him from all the angels who want him dead. “Cas, when I was in Naomi’s office. . . she thought I was more than human, because of what you and Dean felt for me.” You send him the memory of that, her disbelief and anger, her confusion. Your fear. “And sometimes I wish I was, so I had the power to actually save you when you need it.”

His arms lock around you; disbelief softens his voice. “No—”

“I wanna hide you from them forever.” You press it against his mouth, pleading. “I want me’n Dean to be enough to keep you safe. I don’t want you to leave tomorrow. I’m so freaking done with being apart from you guys. If I had anything to say about it, we’d spend a week here, doing more of—everything. Just being together. No more tablets, no running, no heaven on your ass. No more having to cut down your brothers and sisters so you can make it out alive. Just this.” You thumb down his cheek. His brows are slanted with gratitude. It’s that adoring look again, that look that says he’d worship you if he thought you’d accept it. As if he hadn’t already tonight.

He kisses you, gently. “We’ll have this again. We _will_. And you forget how often you _have_ saved me. I don’t mean in fights—I mean everything else. You and Dean—your love, your forgiveness, the way you constantly insist I’m family . .” He tilts his head against yours. “I’d be lost without the both of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Your eyes prickle. What a goddamn cinnamon bun. “Cas.”

You only realize how tired you are when you nearly drift off mid-smooch. It makes him grin, then makes you jump and apologize, shifting, but his hand comes up to your cheek. “We’ve both had long days,” he murmurs, smiling against you. “Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You don’t even remember settling in against him.

* * *

The bus station is busy. A thronging mass of humanity in the cool morning light, weekend bags over everybody’s shoulders. Baseball caps far as the eye can see. Tinny announcements echoing in the shitty, outdated speakers

You and Dean walk Cas to his bus terminal, all three of you trying not to drag your feet. 

Cas has a backpack from who knows where, filled with way more than he’ll need. The angel tablet. One of Dean’s shirts. One of your books, a ragged old paperback that was at the top of your bag this morning. He’d picked it up and turned it over in his hands, noting how well-loved it was, curious about the contents; you asked if he wanted to take it with him. There’s the usual stuff, too. Dean insisted—holy water, holy oil, a lighter, fake credit cards, a fistful of cash, a baggie of rock salt. “Dean,” Cas had said, so gently. “I don’t need these, you know.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean hadn’t paused, chucking stuff in his dopp kit. “It’ll make me feel better, okay.”

Now, the three of you stand off to the side as the bus starts loading. It’s like yesterday, by the car. They’re both framing you. “Welp,” says Dean, to your left. Gruff. Hands in his pockets. “Sext us, Cas.”

Cas nods at your right. He knows Dean’s shit at goodbyes. You are, too. “I will. Be careful—if the angels find a way to track our phones, they’ll hone in on names. Specifics.”

You blurt it before you can stop yourself: “How long d’you think you’ll be out there? On the road?” _When can you come back to us?_

“Hopefully not long.” He swallows. “I have ideas. Ways to keep them at bay. Before long, I’m sure Kevin and Sam will close the gates of hell, and we’ll. . .” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t go great. “We’ll figure It out.”

“Hey,” Dean says, a quiet rush that he blinks through. “You know you can always come home, right. Kid, that goes for you too. Doesn’t matter what’s chasing you. We’ll work it out together.”

“I know, Dean.” Cas touches his arm. “I know.”

The line of people outside the bus is dwindling. Cas looks between you and Dean. “Be good to each other. I know you both, and I know you’re going to feel guilty about leaving me out while I’m gone. But I won’t allow it. Take comfort in each other. Tell me about it when we’re together again.”

He kisses Dean first, and for once in the last day, you feel the need to give them a moment. You look out over the busy lot, telling yourself your eyes aren’t blurring. That you’re going to solve this, that Cas will be back in—in just days, probably. Maybe. Never mind that before this he was on the run for a month. That one single slip-up rained a shitstorm of angels down on you all. _Damn it._

When Cas turns to you, his smile’s wobbling. “We’ve been through much in the last few days,” he murmurs, reaching for your cheek, and you lean into his touch.

“Just a couple things.” You sniffle, but count off on your fingers. “Kidnapping. Torture. Ass-kicking. Wild night of passion.”

The fondness that he pours into his gaze—you can’t even fathom that this is something you get to have, that you get to keep. “We’ll have more of those. So many more.” His kiss is tender and soft right up until the moment he opens your mouth with his, laves his tongue against yours and then bites so gently at your lower lip. It’s hot, it’s _needy_ , he _needs_ you, and the knowledge makes your knees knock together, makes your hands lock tight in his shirt under his coats. He looks you in the eye when you break apart, briefly reminding you of that moment in your dank, dark prison cell, where he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every bit of you.

Then he turns away, hefting his backpack over his shoulder, his voice even rougher than usual. “I’m going to leave before I lose the nerve.”

You and Dean lean on the guardrail behind the bus, watching Cas in that short line. Waiting until he boards to go back to the car.

Dean’s quiet, and on anyone else, it would be aloofness. But man, all your years together, everything you've gone through—you know him. You know what he needs. You need the exact same thing.

You scoot closer, leaning your shoulder against his. After a moment, he lets himself lean, too, with a weary sigh. “Kid,” he says. “You, uh—were you planning on staying with us at the bunker for a bit?”

It’s so hopeful, so tentative, that your heart aches all over again. “Yeah. Yeah, if you’ll have me. I absolutely will. I know you could use the help with Sam.”

He studies his boots. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t. I was giving you an out if you didn’t want to get all rom-com about it.”

That earns you a smile. He shifts to get an arm around you, tucking you close against his side. Planting a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Still keeping us honest, huh.”

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it.” You slip your arm around the small of his back, beneath his jacket.

Cas looks back just before he boards. When he catches you and Dean wrapped around each other, he smiles, relieved and wistful. Then he’s gone.

You and Dean end up following Cas’ bus out of the station. It turns right, chugging east and kicking up dust at the narrow shoulder, bright sunlight glinting off the brushed-metal sides. Dean pauses the Impala at that stop sign for a second longer than necessary as you watch the damn thing take Cas away. Then he swings the wheel left and guns the Impala into the road.

“Kid,” he says, and holds out his hand for yours with a hopeful little smile. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and support! <3 Stalk me on tumblr at [sp-oops](http://sp-oops.tumblr.com).


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